University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


LETTERS  OF 
A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 


THE   WOMAN    HOMESTEADER 


LETTERS 
OF  A  WOMAN 
HOMESTEADER 

BY 

Elinore  Pruitt  Stewart 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  N.  C.  WYETH 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(2Tbc  ftitoer£ibe  $rc$tf  Cambridge 

1914 


COPYRIGHT,    1913  AND   1914,   BY  THE  ATLANTIC   MONTHLY   CO. 
COPYRIGHT,    1914,   BY   ELINORE  PRUITT  STEWART 

ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  May  igi4 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE 

THE  writer  of  the  following  letters  is  a  young 
woman  who  lost  her  husband  in  a  railroad 
accident  and  went  to  Denver  to  seek  support 
for  herself  and  her  two-year-old  daughter, 
Jerrine.  Turning  her  hand  to  the  nearest 
work,  she  went  out  by  the  day  as  house- 
cleaner  and  laundress.  Later,  seeking  to  bet- 
ter herself,  she  accepted  employment  as  a 
housekeeper  for  a  well-to-do  Scotch  cattle- 
man, Mr.  Stewart,  who  had  taken  up  a 
quarter-section  in  Wyoming.  The  letters, 
written  through  several  years  to  a  former 
employer  in  Denver,  tell  the  story  of  her  new 
life  in  the  new  country.  They  are  genuine 
letters,  and  are  printed  as  written,  except  for 
occasional  omissions  and  the  alteration  of 
some  of  the  names. 

4  PARK  ST. 


290951 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  ARRIVAL  AT  BURNT  FORK  ....  3 

II.  FILING  A  CLAIM 7 

III.  A  BUSY,  HAPPY  SUMMER 15 

IV.  A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE  AND  ZEBULON 

PIKE 23 

V.  SEDALIA  AND  REGALIA -45 

VI.  A  THANKSGIVING-DAY  WEDDING   ...    54 
VII.  ZEBULON  PIKE  VISITS  HIS  OLD  HOME     .    60 

VIII.  A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS  < 64 

IX.  A  CONFESSION 77 

X.  THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 81 

XI.  ZEBBIE'S  STORY 100 

XII.  A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 117 

XIII.  PROVING  UP 133 

XIV.  THE  NEW  HOUSE 137 

XV.  THE  "STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER      .    .    .143 

XVI.  THE  HORSE-THIEVES 157 

XVII.  AT  GAVOTTE'S  CAMP 180 

vii 


CONTENTS 

XVIII.  THE  HOMESTEADER'S  MARRIAGE  AND  A 

LITTLE  FUNERAL 184 

XIX.  THE   ADVENTURE   OF   THE    CHRISTMAS 

TREE 193 

XX.  THE  JOYS  OF  HOMESTEADING       .    .    .213 

XXI.  A  LETTER  OF  JERRINE'S 218 

XXII.  THE  EFFICIENT  MRS.  O'SHAUGHNESSY  .  220 

XXIII.  How  IT  HAPPENED 225 

XXIV.  A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 230 

XXV.  AMONG  THE  MORMONS 256 

XXVI.  SUCCESS  279 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

THE  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER Frontispiece 

JERRINE  WAS  ALWAYS  SUCH  A  DEAR  LITTLE  PAL    30 

ZEBULON  PIKE 112 

THE  STEWART  CABIN 138 

GAVOTTE 180 

MRS.  LOUDERER  AND  MRS.  O'SHAUGHNESSY  .    .  258 


LETTERS  OF 
A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 


LETTERS  OF 
A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

I 

THE  ARRIVAL  AT  BURNT  FORK 

BURNT  FORK,  WYOMING, 
April  18,  1909. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  — 

Are  you  thinking  I  am  lost,  like  the  Babes 
in  the  Wood?  Well,  I  am  not  and  I'm  sure 
the  robins  would  have  the  time  of  their  lives 
getting  leaves  to  cover  me  out  here.  I  am 
'way  up  close  to  the  Forest  Reserve  of  Utah, 
within  half  a  mile  of  the  line,  sixty  miles 
from  the  railroad.  I  was  twenty-four  hours 
on  the  train  and  two  days  on  the  stage,  and 
oh,  those  two  days!  The  snow  was  just  be- 
ginning to  melt  and  the  mud  was  about  the 
worst  I  ever  heard  of. 

The  first  stage  we  tackled  was  just  about 
3 


:  'A'  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

as  rickety  as  it  could  very  well  be  and  I  had 
to  sit  with  the  driver,  who  was  a  Mormon  and 
so  handsome  that  I  was  not  a  bit  offended 
when  he  insisted  on  making  love  all  the  way, 
especially  after  he  told  me  that  he  was  a 
widower  Mormon.  But,  of  course,  as  I  had 
no  chaperone  I  looked  very  fierce  (not  that 
that  was  very  difficult  with  the  wind  and 
mud  as  allies)  and  told  him  my  actual  opin- 
ion of  Mormons  in  general  and  particular. 

Meantime  my  new  employer,  Mr.  Stewart, 
sat  upon  a  stack  of  baggage  and  was  dread- 
fully concerned  about  something  he  calls  his 
"Tookie,"  but  I  am  unable  to  tell  you  what 
that  is.  The  road,  being  so  muddy,  was  full 
of  ruts  and  the  stage  acted  as  if  it  had  the 
hiccoughs  and  made  us  all  talk  as  though  we 
were  affected  in  the  same  way.  Once  Mr. 
Stewart  asked  me  if  I  did  not  think  it  a  "gey 
duir  trip."  I  told  him  he  could  call  it  gay  if 
he  wanted  to,  but  it  did  n't  seem  very  hila- 
rious to  me.  Every  time  the  stage  struck 
a  rock  or  a  rut  Mr.  Stewart  would  "hoot," 
4 


THE  ARRIVAL  AT  BURNT  FORK 

until  I  began  to  wish  we  would  come  to  a 
hollow  tree  or  a  hole  in  the  ground  so  he 
could  go  in  with  the  rest  of  the  owls. 

At  last  we  "arriv,"  and  everything  is  just 
lovely  for  me.  I  have  a  very,  very  comfort- 
able situation  and  Mr.  Stewart  is  absolutely 
no  trouble,  for  as  soon  as  he  has  his  meals  he 
retires  to  his  room  and  plays  on  his  bagpipe, 
only  he  calls  it  his  "bugpeep."  It  is  "The 
Campbells  are  Coming,"  without  variations, 
at  intervals  all  day  long  and  from  seven  till 
eleven  at  night.  Sometimes  I  wish  they 
would  make  haste  and  get  here. 

There  is  a  saddle  horse  especially  for  me 
and  a  little  shotgun  with  which  I  am  to  kill 
sage  chickens.  We  are  between  two  trout 
streams,  so  you  can  think  of  me  as  being 
happy  when  the  snow  is  through  melting  and 
the  water  gets  clear.  We  have  the  finest 
flock  of  Plymouth  Rocks  and  get  so  many 
nice  eggs.  It  sure  seems  fine  to  have  all  the 
cream  I  want  after  my  town  experiences. 
Jerrine  is  making  good  use  of  all  the  good 
5 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

things  we  are  having.  She  rides  the  pony  to 
water  every  day. 

I  have  not  filed  on  my  land  yet  because  the 
snow  is  fifteen  feet  deep  on  it,  and  I  think 
I  would  rather  see  what  I  am  getting,  so  will 
wait  until  summer.  They  have  just  three  sea- 
sons here,  winter  and  July  and  August.  We 
are  to  plant  our  garden  the  last  of  May. 
When  it  is  so  I  can  get  around  I  will  see  about 
land  and  find  out  all  I  can  and  tell  you. 

I  think  this  letter  is  about  to  reach  thirty- 
secondly,  so  I  will  send  you  my  sincerest  love 
and  quit  tiring  you.  Please  write  me  when 
you  have  time. 

Sincerely  yours, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 


II 

FILING  A   CLAIM 

May  24,  1909. 
DEAR,  DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

Well,  I  have  filed  on  my  land  and  am 
now  a  bloated  landowner.  I  waited  a  long 
time  to  even  see  land  in  the  reserve,  and  the 
snow  is  yet  too  deep,  so  I  thought  that  as 
they  have  but  three  months  of  summer  and 
spring  together  and  as  I  wanted  the  land  for 
a  ranch  anyway,  perhaps  I  had  better  stay 
in  the  valley.  So  I  have  filed  adjoining  Mr. 
Stewart  and  I  am  well  pleased.  I  have  a 
grove  of  twelve  swamp  pines  on  my  place, 
and  I  am  going  to  build  my  house  there.  I 
thought  it  would  be  very  romantic  to  live  on 
the  peaks  amid  the  whispering  pines,  but  I 
reckon  it  would  be  powerfully  uncomfortable 
also,  and  I  guess  my  twelve  can  whisper 
enough  for  me;  and  a  dandy  thing  is,  I  have 
all  the  nice  snow-water  I  want;  a  small 
7 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

stream  runs  right  through  the  center  of  my 
land  and  I  am  quite  near  wood. 

A  neighbor  and  his  daughter  were  going 
to  Green  River,  the  county-seat,  and  said  I 
might  go  along,  so  I  did,  as  I  could  file  there 
as  well  as  at  the  land  office;  and  oh,  that 
trip !  I  had  more  fun  to  the  square  inch  than 
Mark  Twain  or  Samantha  Allen  ever  pro- 
voked. It  took  us  a  whole  week  to  go  and 
come.  We  camped  out,  of  course,  for  in  the 
whole  sixty  miles  there  was  but  one  house, 
and  going  in  that  direction  there  is  not  a  tree 
to  be  seen,  nothing  but  sage,  sand,  and  sheep. 
About  noon  the  first  day  out  we  came  near  a 
sheep- wagon,  and  stalking  along  ahead  of  us 
was  a  lanky  fellow,  a  herder,  going  home  for 
dinner.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  me  I  should 
starve  if  I  had  to  wait  until  we  got  where  we 
had  planned  to  stop  for  dinner,  so  I  called 
out  to  the  man,  "Little  Bo-Peep,  have  you 
anything  to  eat?  If  you  have,  we'd  like  to 
find  it."  And  he  answered,  ''As  soon  as  I  am 
able  it  shall  be  on  the  table,  if  you'll  but 
8 


FILING  A  CLAIM 

trouble  to  get  behind  it."  Shades  of  Shake- 
speare! Songs  of  David,  the  Shepherd  Poet! 
What  do  you  think  of  us?  Well,  we  got  be- 
hind it,  and  a  more  delicious  "it"  I  never 
tasted.  Such  coffee!  And  out  of  such  a  pot!  I 
promised  Bo- Peep  that  I  would  send  him  a 
crook  with  pink  ribbons  on  it,  but  I  suspect 
he  thinks  I  am  a  crook  without  the  ribbons.  % 

The  sagebrush  is  so  short  in  some  places 
that  it  is  not  large  enough  to  make  a  fire,  so 
we  had  to  drive  until  quite  late  before  we 
camped  that  night.  After  driving  all  day 
over  what  seemed  a  level  desert  of  sand,  we 
came  about  sundown  to  a  beautiful  canon, 
down  which  we  had  to  drive  for  a  couple  of 
miles  before  we  could  cross.  In  the  canon  the 
shadows  had  already  fallen,  but  when  we 
looked  up  we  could  see  the  last  shafts  of  sun- 
light on  the  tops  of  the  great  bare  buttes. 
Suddenly  a  great  wolf  started  from  some- 
where and  galloped  along  the  edge  of  the 
canon,  outlined  black  and  clear  by  the  set- 
ting sun.  His  curiosity  overcame  him  at  last, 
9 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

so  he  sat  down  and  waited  to  see  what  man- 
ner of  beast  we  were.  I  reckon  he  was  dis- 
appointed for  he  howled  most  dismally.  I 
thought  of  Jack  London's  "The  Wolf." 

After  we  quitted  the  canon  I  saw  the  most 
beautiful  sight.  It  seemed  as  if  we  were  driv- 
ing through  a  golden  haze.  The  violet  shad- 
ows were  creeping  up  between  the  hills,  while 
away  back  of  us  the  snow-capped  peaks  were 
catching  the  sun's  last  rays.  On  every  side 
of  us  stretched  the  poor,  hopeless  desert,  the 
sage,  grim  and  determined  to  live  in  spite 
of  starvation,  and  the  great,  bare,  desolate 
buttes.  The  beautiful  colors  turned  to  amber 
and  rose,  and  then  to  the  general  tone,  dull 
gray.  Then  we  stopped  to  camp,  and  such  a 
scurrying  around  to  gather  brush  for  the  fire 
and  to  get  supper !  Everything  tasted  so  good ! 
Jerrine  ate  like  a  man.  Then  we  raised  the 
wagon  tongue  and  spread  the  wagon  sheet 
over  it  and  made  a  bedroom  for  us  women. 
We  made  our  beds  on  the  warm,  soft  sand 
and  went  to  bed. 

10 


FILING  A  CLAIM 

It  was  too  beautiful  a  night  to  sleep,  so  I 
put  my  head  out  to  look  and  to  think.  I  saw 
the  moon  come  up  and  hang  for  a  while  over 
the  mountain  as  if  it  were  discouraged  with 
the  prospect,  and  the  big  white  stars  flirted 
shamelessly  with  the  hills.  I  saw  a  coyote 
come  trotting  along  and  I  felt  sorry  for  him, 
having  to  hunt  food  in  so  barren  a  place,  but 
when  presently  I  heard  the  whirr  of  wings  I 
felt  sorry  for  the  sage  chickens  he  had  dis- 
turbed. At  length  a  cloud  came  up  and  I 
went  to  sleep,  and  next  morning  was  covered 
several  inches  with  snow.  It  did  n't  hurt  us  a 
bit,  but  while  I  was  struggling  with  stubborn 
corsets  and  shoes  I  communed  with  myself, 
after  the  manner  of  prodigals,  and  said: 
"How  much  better  that  I  were  down  in  Den- 
ver, even  at  Mrs.  Coney's,  digging  with  a 
skewer  into  the  corners  seeking  dirt  which 
might  be  there,  yea,  even  eating  codfish,  than 
that  I  should  perish  on  this  desert  —  of  im- 
agination." So  I  turned  the  current  of  my 
imagination  and  fancied  that  I  was  at  home 
II 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

before  the  fireplace,  and  that  the  backlog 
was  about  to  roll  down.  My  fancy  was  in 
such  good  working  trim  that  before  I  knew  it 
I  kicked  the  wagon  wheel,  and  I  certainly  got 
as  warm  as  the  most  "sot"  Scientist  that 
ever  read  Mrs.  Eddy  could  possibly  wish. 

After  two  more  such  days  I  "arrived." 
When  I  went  up  to  the  office  where  I  was  to 
file,  the  door  was  open  and  the  most  taciturn 
old  man  sat  before  a  desk.  I  hesitated  at  the 
door,  but  he  never  let  on.  I  coughed,  yet  no 
sign  but  a  deeper  scowl.  I  stepped  in  and 
modestly  kicked  over  a  chair.  He  whirled 
around  like  I  had  shot  him.  "Well?"  he  in- 
terrogated. I  said,  "  I  am  powerful  glad  of  it. 
I  was  afraid  you  were  sick,  you  looked  in 
such  pain."  He  looked  at  me  a  minute,  then 
grinned  and  said  he  thought  I  was  a  book- 
agent.  Fancy  me,  a  fat,  comfortable  widow, 
trying  to  sell  books! 

Well,  I  filed  and  came  home.  If  you  will 
believe  me,  the  Scot  was  glad  to  see  me  and 
did  n't  herald  the  Campbells  for  two  hours 
12 


FILING  A  CLAIM 

after  I  got  home.  I  '11  tell  you,  it  is  mighty 
seldom  any  one's  so  much  appreciated. 

No,  we  have  no  rural  delivery.  It  is  two 
miles  to  the  office,  but  I  go  whenever  I  like. 
It  is  really  the  jolliest  kind  of  fun  to  gallop 
down.  We  are  sixty  miles  from  the  railroad, 
but  when  we  want  anything  we  send  by  the 
mail-carrier  for  it,  only  there  is  nothing  to 
get. 

I  know  this  is  an  inexcusably  long  letter, 
but  it  is  snowing  so  hard  and  you  know  how  I 
like  to  talk.  I  am  sure  Jerrine  will  enjoy  the 
cards  and  we  will  be  glad  to  get  them.  Many 
things  that  are  a  comfort  to  us  out  here  came 

from  dear  Mrs.  .  Baby  has  the  rabbit 

you  gave  her  last  Easter  a  year  ago.  In  Den- 
ver I  was  afraid  my  baby  would  grow  up 
devoid  of  imagination.  Like  all  the  kinder- 
gartners,  she  depended  upon  others  to  amuse 
her.  I  was  very  sorry  about  it,  for  my  castles 
in  Spain  have  been  real  homes  to  me.  But 
there  is  no  fear.  She  has  a  block  of  wood  she 
found  in  the  blacksmith  shop  which  she  calls 
13 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

her  "dear  baby."  A  spoke  out  of  a  wagon 
wheel  is  "little  Margaret/'  and  a  barrel- 
stave  is  "bad  little  Johnny." 

Well,  I  must  quit  writing  before  you  vote 
me  a  nuisance.  With  lots  of  love  to  you, 
Your  sincere  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 


Ill 

A   BUSY,    HAPPY   SUMMER 

September  n,  1909. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  — 

This  has  been  for  me  the  busiest,  happiest 
summer  I  can  remember.  I  have  worked 
very  hard,  but  it  has  been  work  that  I  really 
enjoy.  Help  of  any  kind  is  very  hard  to  get 
here,  and  Mr.  Stewart  had  been  too  confident 
of  getting  men,  so  that  haying  caught  him 
with  too  few  men  to  put  up  the  hay.  He  had 
no  man  to  run  the  mower  and  he  could  n't 
run  both  the  mower  and  the  stacker,  so  you 
can  fancy  what  a  place  he  was  in. 

I  don't  know  that  I  ever  told  you,  but  my 
parents  died  within  a  year  of  each  other  and 
left  six  of  us  to  shift  for  ourselves.  Our  people 
offered  to  take  one  here  and  there  among 
them  until  we  should  all  have  a  place,  but 
we  refused  to  be  raised  on  the  halves  and  so 
15 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

arranged  to  stay  at  Grandmother's  and  keep 
together.  Well,  we  had  no  money  to  hire  men 
to  do  our  work,  so  had  to  learn  to  do  it  our- 
selves. Consequently  I  learned  to  do  many 
things  which  girls  more  fortunately  situated 
don't  even  know  have  to  be  done.  Among 
the  things  I  learned  to  do  was  the  way  to  run 
a  mowing-machine.  It  cost  me  many  bitter 
tears  because  I  got  sunburned,  and  my  hands 
were  hard,  rough,  and  stained  with  machine 
oil,  and  I  used  to  wonder  how  any  Prince 
Charming  could  overlook  all  that  in  any  girl 
he  came  to.  For  all  I  had  ever  read  of  the 
Prince  had  to  do  with  his  "  reverently  kissing 
her  lily-white  hand,"  or  doing  some  other  fool 
trick  with  a  hand  as  white  as  a  snowflake. 
Well,  when  my  Prince  showed  up  he  did  n't 
lose  much  time  in  letting  me  know  that 
"Barkis  was  willing,"  and  I  wrapped  my 
hands  in  my  old  checked  apron  and  took  him 
up  before  he  could  catch  his  breath.  Then 
there  was  no  more  mowing,  and  I  almost  for- 
got that  I  knew  how  until  Mr.  Stewart  got 
16 


A  BUSY,  HAPPY  SUMMER 

into  such  a  panic.  If  he  put  a  man  to  mow,  it 
kept  them  all  idle  at  the  stacker,  and  he  just 
could  n't  get  enough  men.  I  was  afraid  to 
tell  him  I  could  mow  for  fear  he  would  forbid 
me  to  do  so.  But  one  morning,  when  he  was 
chasing  a  last  hope  of  help,  I  went  down  to 
the  barn,  took  out  the  horses,  and  went  to 
mowing.  I  had  enough  cut  before  he  got 
back  to  show  him  I  knew  how,  and  as  he 
came  back  manless  he  was  delighted  as  well 
as  surprised.  I  was  glad  because  I  really  like 
to  mow,  and  besides  that,  I  am  adding  feath- 
ers to  my  cap  in  a  surprising  way.  When  you 
see  me  again  you  will  think  I  am  wearing  a 
feather  duster,  but  it  is  only  that  I  have  been 
said  to  have  almost  as  much  sense  as  a 
"mon,"  and  that  is  an  honor  I  never  aspired 
to,  even  in  my  wildest  dreams. 

I  have  done  most  of  my  cooking  at  night, 
have  milked  seven  cows  every  day,  and  have 
done  all  the  hay-cutting,  so  you  see  I  have 
been  working.  But  I  have  found  time  to  put 
up  thirty  pints  of  jelly  and  the  same  amount 
17 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

of  jam  for  myself.  I  used  wild  fruits,  goose- 
berries, currants,  raspberries,  and  cherries.  I 
have  almost  two  gallons  of  the  cherry  butter, 
and  I  think  it  is  delicious.  I  wish  I  could  get 
some  of  it  to  you,  I  am  sure  you  would  like  it. 
We  began  haying  July  5  and  finished  Sep- 
tember 8.  After  working  so  hard  and  so 
steadily  I  decided  on  a  day  off,  so  yester- 
day I  saddled  the  pony,  took  a  few  things  I 
needed,  and  Jerrine  and  I  fared  forth.  Baby 
can  ride  behind  quite  well.  We  got  away  by 
sunup  and  a  glorious  day  we  had.  We  fol- 
lowed a  stream  higher  up  into  the  mountains 
and  the  air  was  so  keen  and  clear  at  first 
we  had  on  our  coats.  There  was  a  tang  of 
sage  and  of  pine  in  the  air,  and  our  horse  was 
midside  deep  in  rabbit-brush,  a  shrub  just 
covered  with  flowers  that  look  and  smell 
like  goldenrod.  The  blue  distance  promised 
many  alluring  adventures,  so  we  went  along 
singing  and  simply  gulping  in  summer.  Occa- 
sionally a  bunch  of  sage  chickens  would  fly 
up  out  of  the  sagebrush,  or  a  jack  rabbit 
18 


A  BUSY,  HAPPY  SUMMER 

would  leap  out.  Once  we  saw  a  bunch  of 
antelope  gallop  over  a  hill,  but  we  were  out 
just  to  be  out,  and  game  did  n't  tempt  us.  I 
started,  though,  to  have  just  as  good  a  time  as 
possible,  so  I  had  a  fish-hook  in  my  knapsack. 

Presently,  about  noon,  we  came  to  a  little 
dell  where  the  grass  was  as  soft  and  as  green 
as  a  lawn.  The  creek  kept  right  up  against 
the  hills  on  one  side  and  there  were  groves 
of  quaking  asp  and  cottonwoods  that  made 
shade,  and  service-bushes  and  birches  that 
shut  off  the  ugly  hills  on  the  other  side.  We 
dismounted  and  prepared  to  noon.  We 
caught  a  few  grasshoppers  and  I  cut  a  birch 
pole  for  a  rod.  The  trout  are  so  beautiful  now, 
their  sides  are  so  silvery,  with  dashes  of  old 
rose  and  orange,  their  speckles  are  so  black, 
while  their  backs  look  as  if  they  had  been 
sprinkled  with  gold-dust.  They  bite  so  well 
that  it  does  n't  require  any  especial  skill  or 
tackle  to  catch  plenty  for  a  meal  in  a  few 
minutes. 

In  a  little  while  I  went  back  to  where  I  had 
19 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

left  my  pony  browsing,  with  eight  beauties. 
We  made  a  fire  first,  then  I  dressed  my  trout 
while  it  was  burning  down  to  a  nice  bed  of 
coals.  I  had  brought  a  frying-pan  and  a 
bottle  of  lard,  salt,  and  buttered  bread.  We 
gathered  a  few  service-berries,  our  trout  were 
soon  browned,  and  with  water,  clear,  and  as 
cold  as  ice,  we  had  a  feast.  The  quaking 
aspens  are  beginning  to  turn  yellow,  but  no 
leaves  have  fallen.  Their  shadows  dimpled 
and  twinkled  over  the  grass  like  happy  chil- 
dren. The  sound  of  the  dashing,  roaring 
water  kept  inviting  me  to  cast  for  trout,  but 
I  did  n't  want  to  carry  them  so  far,  so  we 
rested  until  the  sun  was  getting  low  and  then 
started  for  home,  with  the  song  of  the  locusts 
in  our  ears  warning  us  that  the  melancholy 
days  are  almost  here.  We  would  come  up 
over  the  top  of  a  hill  into  the  glory  of  a 
beautiful  sunset  with  its  gorgeous  colors, 
then  down  into  the  little  valley  already  pur- 
pling with  mysterious  twilight.  So  on,  until, 
just  at  dark,  we  rode  into  our  corral  and  a 
20 


A  BUSY,  HAPPY  SUMMER 

mighty  tired,  sleepy  little  girl  was  powerfully 
glad  to  get  home. 

After  I  had  mailed  my  other  letter  I  was 
afraid  that  you  would  think  me  plumb  bold 
about  the  little  Bo- Peep,  and  was  a  heap 
sorrier  than  you  can  think.  If  you  only  knew 
the  hardships  these  poor  men  endure.  They 
go  two  together  and  sometimes  it  is  months 
before  they  see  another  soul,  and  rarely  ever 
a  woman.  I  would  n't  act  so  free  in  town,  but 
these  men  see  people  so  seldom  that  they  are 
awkward  and  embarrassed.  I  like  to  put 
them  at  ease,  and  it  is  to  be  done  only  by 
being  kind  of  hail-fellow-well-met  with  them. 
So  far  not  one  has  ever  misunderstood  me 
and  I  have  been  treated  with  every  courtesy 
and  kindness,  so  I  am  powerfully  glad  you 
understand.  They  really  enjoy  doing  these 
little  things  like  fixing  our  dinner,  and  if  my 
poor  company  can  add  to  any  one's  pleasure 
I  am  too  glad. 

Sincerely  yours, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 
21 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Mr.  Stewart  is  going  to  put  up  my  house 
for  me  in  pay  for  my  extra  work. 

I  am  ashamed  of  my  long  letters  to  you, 
but  I  am  such  a  murderer  of  language  that  I 
have  to  use  it  all  to  tell  anything. 

Please  don't  entirely  forget  me.  Your 
letters  mean  so  much  to  me  and  I  will  try  to 
answer  more  promptly. 


IV 

A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE  AND  ZEBULON  PIKE 

September  28,  1909. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

Your  second  card  just  reached  me  and  I 
am  plumb  glad  because,  although  I  answered 
your  other,  I  was  wishing  I  could  write  you, 
for  I  have  had  the  most  charming  adventure. 

It  is  the  custom  here  for  as  many  women 
as  care  to  to  go  in  a  party  over  into  Utah  to 
Ashland  (which  is  over  a  hundred  miles  away) 
after  fruit.  They  usually  go  in  September, 
and  it  takes  a  week  to  make  the  trip.  They 
take  wagons  and  camp  out  and  of  course 
have  a  good  time,  but,  the  greater  part  of  the 
way,  there  is  n't  even  the  semblance  of  a  road 
and  it  is  merely  a  semblance  anywhere.  They 
came  over  to  invite  me  to  join  them.  I  was  of 
two  minds  —  I  wanted  to  go,  but  it  seemed 
a  little  risky  and  a  big  chance  for  discomfort, 
23 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

since  we  would  have  to  cross  the  Uinta 
Mountains,  and  a  snowstorm  likely  any 
time.  But  I  did  n't  like  to  refuse  outright,  so 
we  left  it  to  Mr.  Stewart.  His  "Ye 're  nae 
gang"  sounded  powerful  final,  so  the  ladies 
departed  in  awed  silence  and  I  assumed  a 
martyr-like  air  and  acted  like  a  very  much 
abused  woman,  although  he  did  only  what  I 
wanted  him  to  do.  At  last,  in  sheer  despera- 
tion he  told  me  the  "bairn  canna  stand  the 
treep,"  and  that  was  why  he  was  so  deter- 
mined. I  knew  why,  of  course,  but  I  con- 
tinued to  look  abused  lest  he  gets  it  into  his 
head  that  he  can  boss  me.  After  he  had  been 
reduced  to  the  proper  plane  of  humility  and 
had  explained  and  begged  my  pardon  and 
had  told  me  to  consult  only  my  own  pleasure 
about  going  and  coming  and  using  his  horses, 
only  not  to  "expoose"  the  bairn,  why,  I  for- 
gave him  and  we  were  friends  once  more. 

Next  day  all  the  men  left  for  the  round- 
up, to  be  gone  a  week.    I  knew  I  never  could 
stand  myself  a  whole  week.  In  a  little  while 
24 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

the  ladies  came  past  on  their  way  to  Ashland. 
They  were  all  laughing  and  were  so  happy 
that  I  really  began  to  wish  I  was  one  of  the 
number,  but  they  went  their  way  and  I  kept 
wanting  to  go  somewhere.  I  got  reckless  and 
determined  to  do  something  real  bad.  So  I 
went  down  to  the  barn  and  saddled  Robin 
Adair,  placed  a  pack  on  "  Jeems  McGregor," 
then  Jerrine  and  I  left  for  a  camping-out 
expedition. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  we  started  and 
we  rode  hard  until  about  four,  when  I  turned 
Robin  loose,  saddle  and  all,  for  I  knew  he 
would  go  home  and  some  one  would  see  him 
and  put  him  into  the  pasture.  We  had  gotten 
to  where  we  could  n't  ride  anyway,  so  I  put 
Jerrine  on  the  pack  and  led  "Jeems"  for 
about  two  hours  longer;  then,  as  I  had  come 
to  a  good  place  to  camp,  we  stopped. 

While  we  had  at  least  two  good  hours  of 

daylight,  it  gets  so  cold  here  in  the  evening 

that  fire  is  very  necessary.    We  had  been 

climbing  higher  into  the  mountains  all  day 

25 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

and  had  reached  a  level  tableland  where  the 
grass  was  luxuriant  and  there  was  plenty  of 
wood  and  water.  I  unpacked  "Jeems"  and 
staked  him  out,  built  a  roaring  fire,  and  made 
our  bed  in  an  angle  of  a  sheer  wall  of  rock 
where  we  would  be  protected  against  the 
wind.  Then  I  put  some  potatoes  into  the 
embers,  as  Baby  and  I  are  both  fond  of 
roasted  potatoes.  I  started  to  a  little  spring 
to  get  water  for  my  coffee  when  I  saw  a 
couple  of  jack  rabbits  playing,  so  I  went 
back  for  my  little  shotgun.  I  shot  one  of  the 
rabbits,  so  I  felt  very  like  Leather-stocking 
because  I  had  killed  but  one  when  I  might 
have  gotten  two.  It  was  fat  and  young,  and 
it  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  to  dress  it 
and  hang  it  up  on  a  tree.  Then  I  fried  some 
slices  of  bacon,  made  myself  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and  Jerrine  and  I  sat  on  the  ground  and  ate. 
Everything  smelled  and  tasted  so  good !  This 
air  is  so  tonic  that  one  gets  delightfully 
hungry.  Afterward  we  watered  and  restaked 
"Jeems,"  I  rolled  some  logs  on  to  the  fire, 
26 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

and  then  we  sat  and  enjoyed  the  pros- 
pect. 

The  moon  was  so  new  that  its  light  was 
very  dim,  but  the  stars  were  bright.  Pres- 
ently a  long,  quivering  wail  arose  and  was 
answered  from  a  dozen  hills.  It  seemed  just 
the  sound  one  ought  to  hear  in  such  a  place. 
When  the  howls  ceased  for  a  moment  we 
could  hear  the  subdued  roar  of  the  creek  and 
the  crooning  of  the  wind  in  the  pines.  So  we 
rather  enjoyed  the  coyote  chorus  and  were 
not  afraid,  because  they  don't  attack  people. 
Presently  we  crept  under  our  Navajos  and, 
being  tired,  were  soon  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  a  pebble  striking  my 
cheek.  Something  prowling  on  the  bluff 
above  us  had  dislodged  it  and  it  struck  me. 
By  my  Waterbury  it  was  four  o'clock,  so  I 
arose  and  spitted  my  rabbit.  The  logs  had 
left  a  big  bed  of  coals,  but  some  ends  were 
still  burning  and  had  burned  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  the  heat  would  go  both  under  and 
over  my  rabbit.  So  I  put  plenty  of  bacon 
27 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

grease  over  him  and  hung  him  up  to  roast. 
Then  I  went  back  to  bed.  I  did  n't  want  to 
start  early  because  the  air  is  too  keen  for 
comfort  early  in  the  morning. 

The  sun  was  just  gilding  the  hilltops  when 
we  arose.  Everything,  even  the  barrenness, 
was  beautiful.  We  have  had  frosts,  and  the 
quaking  aspens  were  a  trembling  field  of  gold 
as  far  up  the  stream  as  we  could  see.  We 
were  'way  up  above  them  and  could  look  far 
across  the  valley.  We  could  see  the  silvery 
gold  of  the  willows,  the  russet  and  bronze  of 
the  currants,  and  patches  of  cheerful  green 
showed  where  the  pines  were.  The  splendor 
was  relieved  by  a  background  of  sober  gray- 
green  hills,  but  even  on  them  gay  streaks 
and  patches  of  yellow  showed  where  rabbit- 
brush  grew.  We  washed  our  faces  at  the 
spring,  —  the  grasses  that  grew  around  the 
edge  and  dipped  into  the  water  were  loaded 
with  ice,  —  our  rabbit  was  done  to  a  turn, 
so  I  made  some  delicious  coffee,  Jerrine  got 
herself  a  can  of  water,  and  we  breakfasted. 
28 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

Shortly  afterwards  we  started  again.  We 
did  n't  know  where  we  were  going,  but  we 
were  on  our  way. 

That  day  was  more  toilsome  than  the  last, 
but  a  very  happy  one.  The  meadowlarks 
kept  singing  like  they  were  glad  to  see  us. 
But  we  were  still  climbing  and  soon  got  be- 
yond the  larks  and  sage  chickens  and  up  into 
the  timber,  where  there  are  lots  of  grouse. 
We  stopped  to  noon  by  a  little  lake,  where  I 
got  two  small  squirrels  and  a  string  of  trout. 
We  had  some  trout  for  dinner  and  salted  the 
rest  with  the  squirrels  in  an  empty  can  for 
future  use.  I  was  anxious  to  get  a  grouse  and 
kept  close  watch,  but  was  never  quick  enough. 
Our  progress  was  now  slower  and  more  diffi- 
cult, because  in  places  we  could  scarcely  get 
through  the  forest.  Fallen  trees  were  every- 
where and  we  had  to  avoid  the  branches, 
which  was  powerful  hard  to  do.  Besides,  it 
was  quite  dusky  among  the  trees  long  before 
night,  but  it  was  all  so  grand  and  awe- 
inspiring.  Occasionally  there  was  an  opening 
29 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

through  which  we  could  see  the  snowy  peaks, 
seemingly  just  beyond  us,  toward  which  we 
were  headed.  But  when  you  get  among  such 
grandeur  you  get  to  feel  how  little  you  are 
and  how  foolish  is  human  endeavor,  except 
that  which  reunites  us  with  the  mighty  force 
called  God.  I  was  plumb  uncomfortable, 
because  all  my  own  efforts  have  always  been 
just  to  make  the  best  of  everything  and  to 
take  things  as  they  come. 

At  last  we  came  to  an  open  side  of  the 
mountain  where  the  trees  were  scattered. 
We  were  facing  south  and  east,  and  the  moun- 
tain we  were  on  sheered  away  in  a  dangerous 
slant.  Beyond  us  still  greater  wooded  moun- 
tains blocked  the  way,  and  in  the  canon 
between  night  had  already  fallen.  I  began  to 
get  scary.  I  could  only  think  of  bears  and 
catamounts,  so,  as  it  was  five  o'clock,  we 
decided  to  camp.  The  trees  were  immense. 
The  lower  branches  came  clear  to  the  ground 
and  grew  so  dense  that  any  tree  afforded  a 
splendid  shelter  from  the  weather,  but  I  was 
30 


JERRINE    WAS    ALWAYS    SUCH    A    DEAR    LITTLE    PAL 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

nervous  and  wanted  one  that  would  protect 
us  against  any  possible  attack.  At  last 
we  found  one  growing  in  a  crevice  of  what 
seemed  to  be  a  sheer  wall  of  rock.  Nothing 
could  reach  us  on  two  sides,  and  in  front  two 
large  trees  had  fallen  so  that  I  could  make  a 
log  heap  which  would  give  us  warmth  and 
make  us  safe.  So  with  rising  spirits  I  un- 
packed and  prepared  for  the  night.  I  soon 
had  a  roaring  fire  up  against  the  logs  and, 
cutting  away  a  few  branches,  let  the  heat 
into  as  snug  a  bedroom  as  any  one  could  wish. 
The  pine  needles  made  as  soft  a  carpet  as 
the  wealthiest  could  afford.  Springs  abound 
in  the  mountains,  so  water  was  plenty.  I 
staked  "Jeems"  quite  near  so  that  the  fire- 
light would  frighten  away  any  wild  thing 
that  tried  to  harm  him.  Grass  was  very 
plentiful,  so  when  he  was  made  "comfy"  I 
made  our  bed  and  fried  our  trout.  The 
branches  had  torn  off  the  bag  in  which  I 
had  my  bread,  so  it  was  lost  in  the  forest, 
but  who  needs  bread  when  they  have  good, 
31 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

mealy  potatoes?  In  a  short  time  we  were 
eating  like  Lent  was  just  over.  We  lost  all 
the  glory  of  the  sunset  except  what  we  got  by 
reflection,  being  on  the  side  of  the  mountain 
we  were,  with  the  dense  woods  between.  Big 
sullen  clouds  kept  drifting  over  and  a  wind 
got  lost  in  the  trees  that  kept  them  rocking 
and  groaning  in  a  horrid  way.  But  we  were 
just  as  cozy  as  we  could  be  and  rest  was  as 
good  as  anything. 

I  wish  you  could  once  sleep  on  the  kind  of 
bed  we  enjoyed  that  night.  It  was  both  soft 
and  firm,  with  the  clean,  spicy  smell  of  the 
pine.  The  heat  from  our  big  fire  came  in  and 
we  were  warm  as  toast.  It  was  so  good  to 
stretch  out  and  rest.  I  kept  thinking  how 
superior  I  was  since  I  dared  to  take  such  an 
outing  when  so  many  poor  women  down  in 
Denver  were  bent  on  making  their  twenty 
cents  per  hour  in  order  that  they  could  spare  a 
quarter  to  go  to  the  "show."  I  went  to  sleep 
with  a  powerfully  self-satisfied  feeling,  but  I 
awoke  to  realize  that  pride  goeth  before  a  fall. 
32 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

I  could  hardly  remember  where  I  was  when 
I  awoke,  and  I  could  almost  hear  the  silence. 
Not  a  tree  moaned,  not  a  branch  seemed  to 
stir.  I  arose  and  my  head  came  in  violent 
contact  with  a  snag  that  was  not  there  when 
I  went  to  bed.  I  thought  either  I  must  have 
grown  taller  or  the  tree  shorter  during  the 
night.  As  soon  as  I  peered  out,  the  mystery 
was  explained. 

Such  a  snowstorm  I  never  saw!  The  snow 
had  pressed  the  branches  down  lower,  hence 
my  bumped  head.  Our  fire  was  burning 
merrily  and  the  heat  kept  the  snow  from  in 
front.  I  scrambled  out  and  poked  up  the  fire; 
then,  as  it  was  only  five  o'clock,  I  went  back 
to  bed.  And  then  I  began  to  think  how  many 
kinds  of  idiot  I  was.  Here  I  was  thirty  or 
forty  miles  from  home,  in  the  mountains 
where  no  one  goes  in  the  winter  and  where  I 
knew  the  snow  got  to  be  ten  or  fifteen  feet 
deep.  But  I  could  never  see  the  good  of  mop- 
ing, so  I  got  up  and  got  breakfast  while  Baby 
put  her  shoes  on.  We  had  our  squirrels  and 
33 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

more  baked  potatoes  and  I  had  delicious 
black  coffee. 

After  I  had  eaten  I  felt  more  hopeful.  I 
knew  Mr.  Stewart  would  hunt  for  me  if  he 
knew  I  was  lost.  It  was  true,  he  would  n't 
know  which  way  to  start,  but  I  determined 
to  rig  up  "  Jeems"  and  turn  him  loose,  for  I 
knew  he  would  go  home  and  that  he  would 
leave  a  trail  so  that  I  could  be  found.  I 
hated  to  do  so,  for  I  knew  I  should  always 
have  to  be  powerfully  humble  afterwards. 
Anyway  it  was  still  snowing,  great,  heavy 
flakes;  they  looked  as  large  as  Collars.  I 
did  n't  want  to  start  "Jeems"  until  the  snow 
stopped  because  I  wanted  him  to  leave  a 
clear  trail.  I  had  sixteen  loads  for  my  gun 
and  I  reasoned  that  I  could  likely  kill  enough 
food  to  last  twice  that  many  days  by  beingx 
careful  what  I  shot  at.  It  just  kept  snowing, 
so  at  last  I  decided  to  take  a  little  hunt  and 
provide  for  the  day.  I  left  Jerrine  happy 
with  the  towel  rolled  into  a  baby,  and  went 
along  the  brow  of  the  mountain  for  almost 
34 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

a  mile,  but  the  snow  fell  so  thickly  that  I 
could  n't  see  far.  Then  I  happened  to  look 
down  into  the  canon  that  lay  east  of  us  and 
saw  smoke.  I  looked  toward  it  a  long  time, 
but  could  make  out  nothing  but  smoke,  but 
presently  I  heard  a  dog  bark  and  I  knew  I 
was  near  a  camp  of  some  kind.  I  resolved  to 
join  them,  so  went  back  to  break  my  own 
camp. 

At  last  everything  was  ready  and  Jerrine 
and  I  both  mounted.  Of  all  the  times!  If 
you  think  there  is  much  comfort,  or  even 
security,  in  riding  a  pack-horse  in  a  snow- 
storm over  mountains  where  there  is  no  road, 
you  are  plumb  wrong.  Every  once  in  a  while 
a  tree  would  unload  its  snow  down  our  backs. 
11  Jeems"  kept  stumbling  and  threatening  to 
break  our  necks.  At  last  we  got  down  the 
mountain-side,  where  new  danger  confronted 
us,  —  we  might  lose  sight  of  the  smoke  or 
ride  into  a  bog.  But  at  last,  after  what 
seemed  hours,  we  came  into  a  "clearing" 
with  a  small  log  house  and,  what  is  rare  in 
35 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Wyoming,  a  fireplace.  Three  or  four  hounds 
set  up  their  deep  baying,  and  I  knew  by 
the  chimney  and  the  hounds  that  it  was  the 
home  of  a  Southerner.  A  little  old  man  came 
bustling  out,  chewing  his  tobacco  so  fast,  and 
almost  frantic  about  his  suspenders,  which  it 
seemed  he  could  n't  get  adjusted. 

As  I  rode  up,  he  said,  "Whither,  friend?" 
I  said  "Hither."  Then  he  asked,  "Air  you 
spying  around  for  one  of  them  dinged  game 
wardens  arter  that  deer  I  killed  yisteddy?" 
I  told  him  I  had  never  even  seen  a  game 
warden  and  that  I  did  n't  know  he  had  killed 
a  deer.  "Wall,"  he  said,  "air  you  spying 
around  arter  that  gold  mine  I  diskivered 
over  on  the  west  side  of  Baldy?"  But  after 
a  while  I  convinced  him  that  I  was  no  more 
nor  less  than  a  foolish  woman  lost  in  the 
snow.  Then  he  said,  "Light,  stranger,  and 
look  at  your  saddle."  So  I  "lit"  and  looked, 
and  then  I  asked  him  what  part  of  the  South 
he  was  from.  He  answered,  "Yell  County, 
by  gum !  The  best  place  in  the  United  States, 
36 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

or  m  the  world,  either."  That  was  my  intro- 
duction to  Zebulon  Pike  Parker. 

Only  two  "Johnny  Rebs"  could  have 
enjoyed  each  other's  company  as  Zebulon 
Pike  and  myself  did.  He  was  so  small  and 
so  old,  but  so  cheerful  and  so  sprightly,  and 
a  real  Southerner!  He  had  a  big,  open  fire- 
place with  backlogs  and  andirons.  How  I 
enjoyed  it  all !  How  we  feasted  on  some  of  the 
deer  killed  "yisteddy,"  and  real  corn-pone 
baked  in  a  skillet  down  on  the  hearth.  He 
was  so  full  of  happy  recollections  and  had  a 
few  that  were  not  so  happy!  He  is,  in  some 
way,  a  kinsman  of  Pike  of  Pike's  Peak  fame, 
and  he  came  west  "jist  arter  the  wah"  on 
some  expedition  and  "jist  stayed."  He  told 
me  about  his  home  life  back  in  Yell  County, 
and  I  feel  that  I  know  all  the  "young 


uns." 


There  was  George  Henry,  his  only  brother; 

and  there  were  Phoebe  and  "Mothie,"  whose 

real  name  is  Martha;  and  poor  little  Mary 

Ann,  whose  death  was  described  so  feelingly 

37 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

that  no  one  could  keep  back  the  tears.  Lastly 
there  was  little  Mandy,  the  baby  and  his 
favorite,  but  who,  I  am  afraid,  was  a  selfish 
little  beast  since  she  had  to  have  her  pru- 
nellas when  all  the  rest  of  the  "young  uns" 
had  to  wear  shoes  that  old  Uncle  Buck  made 
out  of  rawhide.  But  then  ' '  her  eyes  were  blue 
as  morning-glories  and  her  hair  was  jist  like 
corn-silk,  so  yaller  and  fluffy."  Bless  his 
simple,  honest  heart !  His  own  eyes  are  blue 
and  kind,  and  his  poor,  thin  little  shoulders 
are  so  round  that  they  almost  meet  in  front. 
How  he  loved  to  talk  of  his  boyhood  days! 
I  can  almost  see  his  father  and  George  Henry 
as  they  marched  away  to  the  "wah"  to- 
gether, and  the  poor  little  mother's  despair 
as  she  waited  day  after  day  for  some  word, 
that  never  came. 

Poor  little  Mary  Ann  was  drowned  in  the 
bayou,  where  she  was  trying  to  get  water- 
lilies.  She  had  wanted  a  white  dress  all 
her  life  and  so,  when  she  was  dead,  they 
took  down  the  white  cross-bar  curtains  and 
38 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

Mother  made  the  little  shroud  by  the  light 
of  a  tallow  dip.  But,  being  made  by  hand, 
it  took  all  the  next  day,  too,  so  that  they 
buried  her  by  moonlight  down  back  of  the 
orchard  under  the  big  elm  where  the  children 
had  always  had  their  swing.  And  they  lined 
and  covered  her  grave  with  big,  fragrant 
water-lilies.  As  they  lowered  the  poor  little 
home-made  coffin  into  the  grave  the  mock- 
ingbirds began  to  sing  and  they  sang  all 
that  dewy,  moonlight  night.  Then  little 
Mandy's  wedding  to  Judge  Carter's  son  Jim 
was  described.  She  wore  a  "cream-colored 
poplin  with  a  red  rose  thro  wed  up  in  it," 
and  the  lace  that  was  on  Grandma's  wed- 
ding dress.  There  were  bowers  of  sweet 
Southern  roses  and  honeysuckle  and  wis- 
taria. Don't  you  know  she  was  a  dainty 
bride? 

At  last  it  came  out  that  he  had  not  heard 

from  home  since  he  left  it.   "  Don't  you  ever 

write?"    I  asked.    "No,  I  am  not  an  eddi- 

cated  man,  although   I  started  to  school. 

39 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Yes'm,  I  started  along  of  the  rest,  but  they 
told  me  it  was  a  Yankee  teacher  and  I  was 
'fraid,  so  when  I  got  most  to  the  schoolhouse 
I  hid  in  the  bushes  with  my  spelling-book,  so 
that  is  all  the  learning  I  ever  got.  But  my 
mother  was  an  eddicated  woman,  yes'm,  she 
could  both  read  and  write.  I  have  the  Bible 
she  give  me  yit.  Yes'm,  you  jist  wait  and 
I  '11  show  you."  After  some  rummaging  in 
a  box  he  came  back  with  a  small  leather- 
bound  Bible  with  print  so  small  it  was  hard 
to  read.  After  turning  to  the  record  of  births 
and  deaths  he  handed  it  to  me,  his  wrinkled 
old  face  shining  with  pride  as  he  said,  "There, 
my  mother  wrote  that  with  her  own  hand." 
I  took  the  book  and  after  a  little  deciphered 
that  "Zebulon  Pike  Parker  was  born  Feb. 
10,  1830,"  written  in  the  stiff,  difficult  style 
of  long  ago  and  written  with  pokeberry  ink. 
He  said  his  mother  used  to  read  about  some 
"old  feller  that  was  jist  covered  with  biles," 
so  I  read  Job  to  him,  and  he  was  full  of  sur- 
prise they  did  n't  "git  some  cherry  bark  and 
40 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

some  sasparilly  and  bile  it  good  and  gin  it  to 
him." 

He  had  a  side  room  to  his  cabin,  which  was 
his  bedroom ;  so  that  night  he  spread  down 
a  buffalo  robe  and  two  bearskins  before 
the  fire  for  Jerrine  and  me.  After  making 
sure  there  were  no  moths  in  them,  I  spread 
blankets  over  them  and  put  a  sleepy,  happy 
little  girl  to  bed,  for  he  had  insisted  on  mak- 
ing molasses  candy  for  her  because  they  hap- 
pened to  be  born  on  the  same  day  of  the 
month.  And  then  he  played  the  fiddle  until 
almost  one  o'clock.  He  played  all  the  simple, 
sweet,  old-time  pieces,  in  rather  a  squeaky, 
jerky  way,  I  am  afraid,  but  the  music  suited 
the  time  and  the  place. 

Next  morning  he  called  me  early  and  when 
I  went  out  I  saw  such  a  beautiful  sunrise, 
well  worth  the  effort  of  coming  to  see.  I  had 
thought  his  cabin  in  a  canon,  but  the  snow 
had  deceived  me,  for  a  few  steps  from  the 
door  the  mountains  seemed  to  drop  down 
suddenly  for  several  hundred  feet  and  the 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

first  of  the  snow  peaks  seemed  to  lie  right  at 
our  feet.  Around  its  base  is  a  great  swamp, 
in  which  the  swamp  pines  grow  very  thickly 
and  from  which  a  vapor  was  rising  that  got 
about  halfway  up  the  snow  peak  all  around. 
Fancy  to  yourself  a  big  jewel-box  of  dark 
green  velvet  lined  with  silver  chiffon,  the 
snow  peak  lying  like  an  immense  opal  in  its 
center  and  over  all  the  amber  light  of  a  new 
day.  That  is  what  it  looked  most  like. 

Well,  we  next  went  to  the  corral,  where  I 
was  surprised  to  find  about  thirty  head  of 
sheep.  Some  of  them  looked  like  they  should 
have  been  sold  ten  years  before.  "Don't 
you  ever  sell  any  of  your  sheep?"  I  asked. 
"No'm.  There  was  a  feller  come  here  once 
and  wanted  to  buy  some  of  my  wethers,  but 
I  would  n't  sell  any  because  I  did  n't  need 
any  money."  Then  he  went  from  animal  to 
animal,  caressing  each  and  talking  to  them, 
calling  them  each  by  name.  He  milked  his 
one  cow,  fed  his  two  little  mules,  and  then 
we  went  back  to  the  house  to  cook  breakfast. 
42 


A  CHARMING  ADVENTURE 

We  had  delicious  venison  steak,  smoking 
hot,  and  hoe-cakes  and  the  "bestest"  coffee, 
and  honey. 

After  breakfast  we  set  out  for  home.  Our 
pack  transferred  to  one  of  the  little  mules, 
we  rode  "Jeems,"  and  Mr.  Parker  rode  the 
other  mule.  He  took  us  another  way,  down 
canon  after  canon,  so  that  we  were  able  to 
ride  all  the  time  and  could  make  better 
speed.  We  came  down  out  of  the  snow  and 
camped  within  twelve  miles  of  home  in  an 
old,  deserted  ranch  house.  We  had  grouse 
and  sage  chicken  for  supper.  I  was  so  anx- 
ious to  get  home  that  I  could  hardly  sleep, 
but  at  last  I  did  and  was  only  awakened  by 
the  odor  of  coffee,  and  barely  had  time  to 
wash  before  Zebulon  Pike  called  breakfast. 
Afterwards  we  fixed  "  Jeems's"  pack  so  that 
I  could  still  ride,  for  Zebulon  Pike  was  very 
anxious  to  get  back  to  his  "critters." 

Poor,  lonely,  childlike  little  man!  He 
tried  to  tell  me  how  glad  he  had  been  to 
entertain  me.  "Why,"  he  said,  "I  was 
43 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

plumb  glad  to  see  you  and  right  sorry  to  have 
you  go.  Why,  I  would  jist  as  soon  talk  to 
you  as  to  a  nigger.  Yes'm,  I  would.  It  has 
been  almost  as  good  as  talking  to  old  Aunt 
Dilsey."  If  a  Yankee  had  said  the  same  to 
me  I  would  have  demanded  instant  apology, 
but  I  know  how  the  Southern  heart  longs  for 
the  dear,  kindly  old  "niggers,"  so  I  came  on 
homeward,  thankful  for  the  first  time  that  I 
can't  talk  correctly. 

I  got  home  at  twelve  and  found,  to  my  joy, 
that  none  of  the  men  had  returned,  so  I 
am  safe  from  their  superiority  for  a  while,  at 
least. 

With  many  apologies  for  this  outrageous 
letter,  I  am 

Your  ex-Washlady, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 


V 

SEDALIA   AND   REGALIA 

November  22,  1909. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  - 

I  was  dreadfully  afraid  that  my  last  letter 
was  too  much  for  you  and  now  I  feel  plumb 
guilty.  I  really  don't  know  how  to  write  you, 
for  I  have  to  write  so  much  to  say  so  little, 
and  now  that  my  last  letter  made  you  sick  I 
almost  wish  so  many  things  did  n't  happen 
to  me,  for  I  always  want  to  tell  you.  Many 
things  have  happened  since  I  last  wrote,  and 
Zebulon  Pike  is  not  done  for  by  any  means, 
but  I  guess  I  will  tell  you  my  newest  experi- 
ence. 

I  am  making  a  wedding  dress.  Don't  grin ; 
it  isn't  mine,  —  worse  luck!  But  I  must 
begin  at  the  beginning.  Just  after  I  wrote 
you  before,  there  came  a  terrific  storm  which 
made  me  appreciate  indoor  coziness,  but  as 
45 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

only  Baby  and  I  were  at  home  I  expected  to 
be  very  lonely.  The  snow  was  just  whirling 
when  I  saw  some  one  pass  the  window.  I 
opened  the  door  and  in  came  the  dumpiest 
little  woman  and  two  daughters.  She  asked 
me  if  I  was  "Mis'  Rupit."  I  told  her  that 
she  had  almost  guessed  it,  and  then  she  in- 
troduced herself.  She  said  she  was  "Mis' 
Lane,"  that  she  had  heard  there  was  a  new 
stranger  in  the  country,  so  she  had  brought 
her  twin  girls,  Sedalia  and  Regalia,  to  be 
neighborly.  While  they  were  taking  off  their 
many  coats  and  wraps  it  came  out  that  they 
were  from  Linwood,  thirty  miles  away.  I  was 
powerful  glad  I  had  a  pot  roast  and  some 
baked  beans. 

After  we  had  put  the  horses  in  the  barn 
we  had  dinner  and  I  heard  the  story  of  the 
girls'  odd  names.  The  mother  is  one  of  those 
"comfy,"  fat  little  women  who  remain  happy 
and  bubbling  with  fun  in  spite  of  hard  knocks. 
I  had  already  fallen  in  love  with  Regalia,  she 
is  so  jolly  and  unaffected,  so  fat  and  so  plain. 
46 


SEDALIA  AND  REGALIA 

Sedalia  has  a  veneer  of  most  uncomfortable 
refinement.  She  was  shocked  because  Gale 
ate  all  the  roast  she  wanted,  and  if  I  had  been 
very  sensitive  I  would  have  been  in  tears, 
because  I  ate  a  helping  more  than  Gale  did. 
But  about  the  names.  It  seemed  that 
"Mis'  Lane"  married  quite  young,  was  an 
orphan,  and  had  no  one  to  tell  her  things  she 
should  have  known.  She  lived  in  Missouri, 
but  about  a  year  after  her  marriage  the 
young  couple  started  overland  for  the  West. 
It  was  in  November,  and  one  night  when 
they  had  reached  the  plains  a  real  blue  bliz- 
zard struck  them.  "Mis'  Lane"  had  been 
in  pain  all  day  and  soon  she  knew  what  was 
the  matter.  They  were  alone  and  it  was  a 
day's  travel  back  to  the  last  house.  The 
team  had  given  out  and  the  wind  and  sleet 
were  seeing  which  could  do  the  most  mean- 
ness. At  last  the  poor  man  got  a  fire  started 
and  a  wagon  sheet  stretched  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  it  kept  off  the  sleet.  He  fixed  a  bed 
under  the  poor  shelter  and  did  all  he  could  to 
47 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

keep  the  fire  from  blowing  away,  and  there, 
a  few  hours  later,  a  little  girl  baby  was  born. 
They  melted  sleet  in  the  frying-pan  to  get 
water  to  wash  it.  "Mis'  Lane"  kept  feeling 
no  better  fast,  and  about  the  time  they  got 
the  poor  baby  dressed  a  second  little  one 
came. 

That  she  told  me  herself  is  proof  she  did  n't 
die,  I  guess,  but  it  is  right  hard  to  believe 
she  did  n't.  Luckily  the  fire  lasted  until  the 
babies  were  dressed  and  the  mother  began  to 
feel  better,  for  there  was  no  wood.  Soon  the 
wind  stopped  and  the  snow  fell  steadily.  It 
was  warmer,  and  the  whole  family  snuggled 
up  under  the  wagon  sheet  and  slept. 

Mr.  Lane  is  a  powerful  good  husband. 
He  waited  two  whole  days  for  his  wife  to 
gain  strength  before  he  resumed  the  journey, 
and  on  the  third  morning  he  actually  carried 
her  to  the  wagon.  Just  think  of  it!  Could 
more  be  asked  of  any  man? 

Every  turn  of  the  wheels  made  poor  "  Mis' 
Lane"  more  homesick.  Like  Mrs.  Wiggs  of 


SEDALIA  AND  REGALIA 

the  Cabbage  Patch,  she  had  a  taste  for  geo- 
graphical names,  and  "Mis*  Lane"  is  very 
loyal,  so  she  wanted  to  call  the  little  first- 
born "Missouri.'*  Mr.  Lane  said  she  might, 
but  that  if  she  did  he  would  call  the  other  one 
"Arkansas."  Sometimes  homesickness  would 
almost  master  her.  She  would  hug  up  the 
little  red  baby  and  murmur  "Missouri,"  and 
then  daddy  would  growl  playfully  to  "Arkan- 
sas." It  went  on  that  way  for  a  long  time 
and  at  last  she  remembered  that  Sedalia  was 
in  Missouri,  so  she  felt  glad  and  really  named 
the  older  baby  "Sedalia."  But  she  could 
think  of  nothing  to  match  the  name  and  was 
in  constant  fear  the  father  would  name  the 
other  baby  "Little  Rock." 

For  three  years  poor  Gale  was  just 
"t'other  one."  Then  the  Lanes  went  to 
Green  River  where  some  lodge  was  having  a 
parade.  They  were  watching  the  drill  when 
a  "bystander  that  was  standing  by"  said 
something  about  the  "fine  regalia."  In- 
stantly "Mis'  Lane"  thought  of  her  un- 
49 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

named  child ;  so  since  that  time  Gale  has  had 
a  name. 

There  could  be  no  two  people  more  unlike 
than  the  sisters.  Sedalia  is  really  handsome, 
and  she  is  thin.  But  she  is  vain,  selfish,  shal- 
low, and  conceited.  Gale  is  not  even  pretty, 
but  she  is  clean  and  she  is  honest.  She  does 
many  little  things  that  are  not  exactly  polite, 
but  she  is  good  and  true.  They  both  went 
to  the  barn  with  me  to  milk.  Gale  tucked  up 
her  skirts  and  helped  me.  She  said,  "I  just 
love  a  stable,  with  its  hay  and  comfortable, 
contented  cattle.  I  never  go  into  one  without 
thinking  of  the  little  baby  Christ.  I  almost 
expect  to  see  a  little  red  baby  in  the  straw 
every  time  I  peek  into  a  manger." 

Sedalia  answered,  "Well,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  get  out  of  the  stable  to  preach.  Who 
wants  to  stand  among  these  smelly  cows  all 
day?" 

They  stayed  with  us  almost  a  week,  and 
one  day  when  Gale  and  I  were  milking  she 
asked  me  to  invite  her  to  stay  with  me  a 
50 


SEDALIA  AND  REGALIA 

month.  She  said  to  ask  her  mother,  and  left 
her  mother  and  myself  much  together.  But 
Sedalia  stuck  to  her  mother  like  a  plaster  and 
I  just  could  not  stand  Sedalia  a  whole  month. 
However,  I  was  spared  all  embarrassment, 
for  "Mis'  Lane"  asked  me  if  I  could  not 
find  work  enough  to  keep  Gale  busy  for  a 
month  or  two.  She  went  on  to  explain  that 
Sedalia  was  expecting  to  be  married  and  that 
Gale  was  so  " common"  she  would  really 
spoil  the  match.  I  was  surprised  and  indig- 
nant, especially  as  Sedalia  sat  and  listened 
so  brazenly,  so  I  said  I  thought  Sedalia  would 
need  all  the  help  she  could  get  to  get  married 
and  that  I  should  be  glad  to  have  Gale  visit 
me  as  long  as  she  liked. 

So  Gale  stayed  on  with  me.  One  afternoon 
she  had  gone  to  the  post-office  when  I  saw 
Mr.  Patterson  ride  up.  He  went  into  the 
bunk-house  to  wait  until  the  men  should 
come.  Now,  from  something  Gale  had  said  I 
fancied  that  Bob  Patterson  must  be  the  right 
man.  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  very  delicate 
51 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

about  that  kind  of  meddling,  and  while  I  had 
been  given  to  understand  that  Patterson  was 
the  man  Sedalia  expected  to  marry,  I  did  n't 
think  any  man  would  choose  her  if  he  could 
get  Gale,  so  I  called  him.  We  had  a  long 
chat  and  he  told  me  frankly  he  wanted  Gale, 
but  that  she  did  n't  care  for  him,  and  that 
they  kept  throwing  "that  danged  Sedalia" 
at  him.  Then  he  begged  my  pardon  for  say- 
ing "  danged,"  but  I  told  him  I  approved  of 
the  word  when  applied  to  Sedalia,  and  broke 
the  news  to  him  that  Gale  was  staying  with 
me.  He  fairly  beamed.  So  that  night  I  left 
Gale  to  wash  dishes  and  Bob  to  help  her 
while  I  held  Mr.  Stewart  a  prisoner  in  the 
stable  and  questioned  him  regarding  Patter- 
son's prospects  and  habits.  I  found  both  all 
that  need  be,  and  told  Mr.  Stewart  about  my 
talk  with  Patterson,  and  he  said,  "  Wooman, 
some  day  ye '11  gang  ploom  daft."  But  he 
admitted  he  was  glad  it  was  the  "bonny 
lassie,  instead  of  the  bony  one."  When  we 
went  to  the  house  Mr.  Stewart  said,  "  Weel, 
52 


SEDALIA  AND  REGALIA 

when  are  you  douchy  bairns  gangin'  to  the 
kirk?" 

They  left  it  to  me,  so  I  set  Thanksgiving 
Day,  and  as  there  is  no  "kirk  to  gang  to," 
we  are  going  to  have  a  justice  of  the  peace 
and  they  are  to  be  married  here.  We  are 
going  to  have  the  dandiest  dinner  that  I  can 
cook,  and  Mr.  Stewart  went  to  town  next 
day  for  the  wedding  dress,  the  gayest  plaid 
outside  of  Caledonia.  But  Gale  has  lots  of 
sense  and  is  going  to  wear  it.  I  have  it 
almost  finished,  and  while  it  does  n't  look 
just  like  a  Worth  model,  still  it  looks  plumb 
good  for  me  to  have  made.  The  boys  are 
going  up  after  Zebulon  Pike,  and  Mr.  Stewart 
is  going  after  "Mis'  Lane."  Joy  waves  are 
radiating  from  this  ranch  and  about  Thanks- 
giving morning  one  will  strike  you. 

With  lots  of  love  and  happy  wishes, 
Your  ex-Washlady, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 


VI 

A  THANKSGIVING-DAY  WEDDING 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

...  I  think  every  one  enjoyed  our 
Thanksgiving  programme  except  poor  Gale. 
She  was  grieved,  I  verily  believe,  because 
Mr.  Patterson  is  not  Mormon  and  could  not 
take  Sedalia  and  herself  also.  I  suppose  it 
seemed  odd  to  her  to  be  unable  to  give  way 
to  Sedalia  as  she  had  always  done. 

I  had  cooked  and  cooked.  Gale  and  Zebu- 
Ion  Pike  both  helped  all  they  could.  The 
wedding  was  to  be  at  twelve  o'clock,  so  at 
ten  I  hustled  Gale  into  my  room  to  dress.  I 
had  to  lock  the  door  to  keep  her  in,  and  I 
divided  my  time  between  the  last  touches  to 
my  dinner  and  the  finishing  touches  to  Gale's 
toilet  and  receiving  the  people.  The  Lane 
party  had  not  come  yet,  and  I  was  scared  to 
death  lest  Sedalia  had  had  a  tantrum  and 
54 


THANKSGIVING-DAY  WEDDING 

that  Mr.  Stewart  would  not  get  back  in  time. 
At  last  I  left  the  people  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves, for  I  had  too  much  on  my  mind  to 
bother  with  them.  Just  after  eleven  Mr. 
Stewart,  Mis'  Lane,  Sedalia,  and  Pa  Lane 
"arriv"  and  came  at  once  into  the  kitchen 
to  warm.  In  a  little  while  poor,  frightened 
Gale  came  creeping  in,  looking  guilty.  But 
she  looked  lovely,  too,  in  spite  of  her  plaid 
dress.  She  wore  her  hair  in  a  coronet  braid, 
which  added  dignity  and  height,  as  well  as 
being  simple  and  becoming.  Her  mother 
brought  her  a  wreath  for  her  hair,  of  lilies 
of  the  valley  and  tiny  pink  rosebuds.  It 
might  seem  a  little  out  of  place  to  one  who 
did  n't  see  it,  but  the  effect  was  really  charm- 
ing. 

Sedalia  did  n't  know  that  Mr.  Stewart  had 
given  Gale  her  dress,  so,  just  to  be  nasty, 
she  said,  as  soon  as  she  saw  Gale,  "  Dear  me, 
when  are  you  going  to  dress,  Gale?  You  will 
hardly  have  time  to  get  out  of  that  horse- 
blanket  you  are  wearing  and  get  into  some- 
55 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

thing  decent."  You  see,  she  thought  it  was 
one  of  my  dresses  fixed  over  for  Gale.  Pres- 
ently Sedalia  asked  me  if  I  was  invited  to  the 
"function."  She  had  some  kind  of  rash  on 
her  face  and  Zebulon  Pike  noticed  the  rash 
and  heard  the  word  "  function,"  so  he  thought 
that  was  the  name  of  some  disease  and  asked 
Mr.  Stewart  if  the  "function"  was  "catch- 
ing." Mr.  Stewart  had  heard  Sedalia,  but 
knew  "Zebbie"  had  not  heard  all  that  was 
said  and  how  he  got  the  idea  he  had,  so  he 
answered,  "Yes,  if  ye  once  get  the  fever." 
So  Zebulon  Pike  privately  warned  every  one 
against  getting  the  "function"  from  Sedalia. 
There  are  plenty  of  people  here  who  don't 
know  exactly  what  a  function  is,  myself 
among  them.  So  people  edged  away  from 
Sedalia,  and  some  asked  her  if  she  had  seen 
the  doctor  and  what  he  thought  of  her  case. 
Poor  girl,  I  'm  afraid  she  did  n't  have  a  very 
enjoyable  time. 

At  last  the  "jestice"  of  the  peace  came, 
and  I  hope  they  live  happy  ever  afterward. 
56 


THANKSGIVING-DAY  WEDDING 

That  night  a  dance  was  given  to  celebrate 
the  event  and  we  began  to  have  dinner  im- 
mediately after  the  wedding  so  as  to  get 
through  in  time  to  start,  for  dances  are  never 
given  in  the  home  here,  but  in  "the  hall." 
Every  settlement  has  one  and  the  invitations 
are  merely  written  announcements  posted 
everywhere.  We  have  what  Sedalia  calls 
"homogenous"  crowds.  I  would  n't  attempt 
to  say  what  she  means,  but  as  everybody 
goes  no  doubt  she  is  right. 

Our  dinner  was  a  success,  but  that  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at.  Every  woman  for  miles 
around  contributed.  Of  course  we  had  to 
borrow  dishes,  but  we  could  n't  think  of 
seating  every  one;  so  we  set  one  table  for 
twenty-four  and  had  three  other  long  tables, 
on  one  of  which  we  placed  all  the  meats, 
pickles,  and  sauces,  on  another  the  vege- 
tables, soup,  and  coffee,  and  on  the  third 
the  pie,  cakes,  ice-cream,  and  other  desserts. 
We  had  two  big,  long  shelves,  one  above  the 
other,  on  which  were  the  dishes.  The  people 
57 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

helped  themselves  to  dishes  and  neighbors 
took  turns  at  serving  from  the  tables,  so 
people  got  what  they  wanted  and  hunted 
themselves  a  place  to  sit  while  they  ate.  Two 
of  the  cowboys  from  this  ranch  waited  upon 
the  table  at  which  were  the  wedding  party 
and  some  of  their  friends.  Boys  from  other 
ranches  helped  serve  and  carried  coffee,  cake, 
and  ice-cream.  The  tablecloths  were  toler- 
ably good  linen  and  we  had  ironed  them  wet 
so  they  looked  nice.  We  had  white  lace- 
paper  on  the  shelves  and  we  used  drawn- 
work  paper  napkins.  As  I  said,  we  borrowed 
dishes,  or,  that  is,  every  woman  who  called 
herself  our  neighbor  brought  whatever  she 
thought  we  would  need.  So  after  every  one 
had  eaten  I  suggested  that  they  sort  out  their 
dishes  and  wash  them,  and  in  that  way  I  was 
saved  all  that  work.  We  had  everything  done 
and  were  off  to  the  dance  by  five  o'clock. 
We  went  in  sleds  and  sleighs,  the  snow  was 
so  deep,  but  it  was  all  so  jolly.  Zebbie,  Mr. 
Stewart,  Jerrine,  and  I  went  in  the  bobsled. 

58 


THANKSGIVING-DAY  WEDDING 

We  jogged  along  at  a  comfortable  pace  lest 
the  "beasties"  should  suffer,  and  every  now 
and  then  a  merry  party  would  fly  past  us 
scattering  snow  in  our  faces  and  yelling  like 
Comanches.  We  had  a  lovely  moon  then 
and  the  snow  was  so  beautiful!  We  were 
driving  northward,  and  to  the  south  and 
back  of  us  were  the  great  somber,  pine-clad 
Uintah  Mountains,  while  ahead  and  on  every 
side  were  the  bare  buttes,  looking  like  old 
men  of  the  mountains,  —  so  old  they  had 
lost  all  their  hair,  beard,  and  teeth. 


VII 

ZEBULON  PIKE  VISITS  HIS  OLD  HOME 

December  28,  1909. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  —  Our  Thanksgiving 
affair  was  the  most  enjoyable  happening  I 
can  remember  for  a  long  time.  Zebulon  Pike 
came,  but  I  had  as  a  bait  for  him  two  fat 
letters  from  home.  As  soon  as  I  came  back 
from  his  place  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Carter  and 
trusted  to  luck  for  my  letter  to  reach  her.  I 
told  her  all  I  could  about  her  brother  and 
how  seldom  he  left  his  mountain  home.  I 
asked  her  to  write  him  all  she  could  in  one 
letter,  as  the  trips  between  our  place  and  his 
were  so  few  and  far  between.  So  when  she 
received  my  letter  she  wrote  all  she  could 
think  of,  and  then  sent  her  letter  and  mine 
to  Mothie  and  Phoebe,  who  are  widows  living 
in  the  old  home.  They  each  took  turns  writ- 
ing, so  their  letters  are  a  complete  record  of 
60 


PIKE  VISITS  HIS  OLD  HOME 

the  years  "Zebbie"  has  been  gone.  The  let- 
ters were  addressed  to  me  along  with  a  cor- 
dial letter  from  Mrs.  Carter  asking  me  to  see 
that  he  got  them  and  to  use  my  judgment  in 
the  delivering.  I  could  n't  go  myself,  but 
I  wanted  to  read  the  letters  to  him  and  to 
write  the  answers ;  so  I  selected  one  piece  of 
news  I  felt  would  bring  him  to  hear  the  res" 
without  his  knowing  how  much  there  was  for 
him. 

Well,  the  boys  brought  him,  and  a  more 
delighted  little  man  I  am  sure  never  lived. 
I  read  the  letters  over  and  over,  and  answers 
were  hurried  off.  He  was  dreadfully  home- 
sick, but  could  n't  figure  on  how  he  could 
leave  the  "critters,"  or  how  he  could  trust 
himself  on  a  train.  Mr.  Stewart  became  in- 
terested, and  he  is  a  very  resourceful  man, 
so  an  old  Frenchman  was  found  who  had  no 
home  and  wanted  a  place  to  stay  so  he  could 
trap.  He  was  installed  at  Zebulon  Pike's 
with  full  instructions  as  to  each  "critter's" 
peculiarities  and  needs.  Then  one  of  the 
61 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

boys,  who  was  going  home  for  Christmas 
to  Memphis,  was  induced  to  wait  for  Mr. 
Parker  and  to  see  him  safe  to  Little  Rock. 
His  money  was  banked  for  him,  and  Mr. 
Stewart  saw  that  he  was  properly  clothed 
and  made  comfortable  for  the  trip.  Then  he 
sent  a  telegram  to  Judge  Carter,  who  met 
Zebulon  Pike  at  Little  Rock,  and  they  had  a 
family  reunion  in  Yell  County.  I  have  had 
some  charming  letters  from  there,  but  that 
only  proves  what  I  have  always  said,  that 
I  am  the  luckiest  woman'  in  finding  really 
lovely  people  and  having  really  happy  expe- 
riences. Good  things  are  constantly  happen- 
ing to  me.  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  about  my 
happy  Christmas,  but  one  of  my  New  Year's 
resolutions  was  to  stop  loading  you  down 
with  two-thousand-word  letters. 

From  something  you  wrote  I  think  I  must 
have  written  boastingly  to  you  at  some  time. 
I  have  certainly  not  intended  to,  and  you 
must  please  forgive  me  and  remember  how 
ignorant  I  am  and  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to 
62 


PIKE  VISITS  HIS  OLD  HOME 

express  myself  properly.  I  felt  after  I  had 
written  to  Mr.  Parker's  people  that  I  had 
taken  a  liberty,  but  luckily  it  was  not  thought 
of  in  that  way  by  them.  If  you  only  knew 
how  far  short  I  fall  of  my  own  hopes  you 
would  know  I  could  never  boast.  Why,  it 
keeps  me  busy  making  over  mistakes  just 
like  some  one  using  old  clothes.  I  get  myself 
all  ready  to  enjoy  a  success  and  find  that  I 
have  to  fit  a  failure.  But  one  consolation  is 
that  I  generally  have  plenty  of  material  to 
cut  generously,  and  many  of  my  failures  have 
proved  to  be  real  blessings. 

I  do  hope  this  New  Year  may  bring  to  you 
the  desire  of  your  heart  and  all  that  those 
who  love  you  best  most  wish  for  you. 

With  lots  and  lots  of  love  from  baby  and 
myself. 

Your  ex-washlady, 

ELINORE  STEWART. 


VIII 

A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY, — 

My  happy  Christmas  resulted  from  the 
ex-sheriff  of  this  county  being  snowbound 
here.  It  seems  that  persons  who  come  from  a 
lower  altitude  to  this  country  frequently  be- 
come bewildered,  especially  if  in  poor  health, 
leave  the  train  at  any  stop  and  wander  off 
into  the  hills,  sometimes  dying  before  they 
are  found.  The  ex-sheriff  cited  a  case,  that 
of  a  young  German  who  was  returning  from 
the  Philippines,  where  he  had  been  discharged 
after  the  war.  He  was  the  only  child  of  his 
widowed  mother,  who  has  a  ranch  a  few  miles 
from  here.  No  one  knew  he  was  coming 
home.  One  day  the  cook  belonging  to  the 
camp  of  a  construction  gang  went  hunting 
and  came  back  running,  wild  with  horror. 
He  had  found  the  body  of  a  man.  The  coro- 


A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS 

ner  and  the  sheriff  were  notified,  and  next 
morning  went  out  for  the  body,  but  the 
wolves  had  almost  destroyed  it.  High  up  in 
a  willow,  under  which  the  poor  man  had  lain 
down  to  die,  they  saw  a  small  bundle  tied  in 
a  red  bandanna  and  fast  to  a  branch.  They 
found  a  letter  addressed  to  whoever  should 
find  it,  saying  that  the  body  was  that  of 
Benny  Louderer  and  giving  them  directions 
how  to  spare  his  poor  old  mother  the  awful 
knowledge  of  how  he  died.  Also  there  was  a 
letter  to  his  mother  asking  her  not  to  grieve 
for  him  and  to  keep  their  days  faithfully. 
" Their  days,"  I  afterward  learned,  were  an- 
niversaries which  they  had  always  kept,  to 
which  was  added  "Benny's  day." 

Poor  boy!  When  he  realized  that  death 
was  near  his  every  thought  was  for  the 
mother.  Well,  they  followed  his  wishes,  and 
the  casket  containing  the  bare,  gnawed  bones 
was  sealed  and  never  opened.  And  to  this 
day  poor  Mrs.  Louderer  thinks  her  boy  died 
of  some  fever  while  yet  aboard  the  transport. 

65 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

The  manner  of  his  death  has  been  kept  so  se- 
cret that  I  am  the  only  one  who  has  heard  it. 

I  was  so  sorry  for  the  poor  mother  that  I 
resolved  to  visit  her  the  first  opportunity  I 
had.  I  am  at  liberty  to  go  where  I  please 
when  there  is  no  one  to  cook  for.  So,  when 
the  men  left,  a  few  days  later,  I  took  Jerrine 
and  rode  over  to  the  Louderer  ranch.  I  had 
never  seen  Mrs.  Louderer  and  it  happened 
to  be  "Benny's  day"  that  I  blundered  in 
upon.  I  found  her  to  be  a  dear  old  German 
woman  living  all  alone,  the  people  who  do 
the  work  on  the  ranch  living  in  another  house 
two  miles  away.  She  had  been  weeping  for 
hours  when  I  got  there,  but  in  accordance 
with  her  custom  on  the  many  anniversaries, 
she  had  a  real  feast  prepared,  although  no 
one  had  been  bidden. 

She  says  that  God  always  sends  her  guests, 
but  that  was  the  first  time  she  had  had  a 
little  girl.  She  had  a  little  daughter  once 
herself,  little  Gretchen,  but  all  that  was  left 
was  a  sweet  memory  and  a  pitifully  small 
66 


A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS 

mound  on  the  ranch,  quite  near  the  house, 
where  Benny  and  Gretchen  are  at  rest  beside 
"der  fader,  Herr  Louderer." 

She  is  such  a  dear  old  lady!  She  made  us 
so  welcome  and  she  is  so  entertaining.  All 
the  remainder  of  the  day  we  listened  to  sto- 
nes of  her  children,  looked  at  her  pictures, 
and  Jerrine  had  a  lovely  time  with  a  wonder- 
ful wooden  doll  that  they  had  brought  with 
them  from  Germany.  Mrs.  Louderer  forgot 
to  weep  in  recalling  her  childhood  days  and 
showing  us  her  treasures.  And  then  our 
feast,  —  for  it  was  verily  a  feast.  We  had 
goose  and  it  was  so  delicious.  I  could  n't  tell 
you  half  the  good  things  any  more  than  I 
could  have  eaten  some  of  all  of  them. 

We  sat  talking  until  far  into  the  night, 
and  she  asked  me  how  I  was  going  to  spend 
Christmas.  I  told  her,  "  Probably  in  being 
homesick."  She  said  that  would  never  do 
and  suggested  that  we  spend  it  together. 
She  said  it  was  one  of  their  special  days  and 
that  the  only  happiness  left  her  was  in  mak- 
67 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

ing  some  one  else  happy ;  so  she  had  thought 
of  cooking  some  nice  things  and  going  to  as 
many  sheep  camps  as  she  could,  taking  with 
her  the  good  things  to  the  poor  exiles,  the 
sheep-herders.  I  liked  the  plan  and  was  glad 
to  agree,  but  I  never  dreamed  I  should  have 
so  lovely  a  time.  When  the  queer  old  wooden 
clock  announced  two  we  went  to  bed. 

I  left  quite  early  the  next  morning  with 
my  head  full  of  Christmas  plans.  You  may 
not  know,  but  cattle-men  and  sheep-men 
cordially  hate  each  other.  Mr.  Stewart  is 
a  cattle-man,  and  so  I  did  n't  mention  my 
Christmas  plans  to  him.  I  saved  all  the 
butter  I  could  spare  for  the  sheep-herders; 
they  never  have  any.  That  and  some  jars  of 
gooseberry  jelly  was  all  I  could  give  them. 
I  cooked  plenty  for  the  people  here,  and  two 
days  before  Christmas  I  had  a  chance  to  go 
down  to  Mrs.  Louderer's  in  a  buggy,  so  we 
went.  We  found  her  up  to  her  ears  in  cook- 
ing, and  such  sights  and  smells  I  could  never 
describe.  She  was  so  glad  I  came  early,  for 
68 


A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS 

she  needed  help.  I  never  worked  so  hard  in 
my  life  or  had  a  pleasanter  time. 

Mrs.  Louderer  had  sent  a  man  out  several 
days  before  to  find  out  how  many  camps 
there  were  and  where  they  were  located. 
There  were  twelve  camps  and  that  means 
twenty-four  men.  We  roasted  six  geese, 
boiled  three  small  hams  and  three  hens.  We 
had  besides  several  meat-loaves  and  links  of 
sausage.  We  had  twelve  large  loaves  of  the 
best  rye  bread;  a  small  tub  of  doughnuts; 
twelve  coffee-cakes,  more  to  be  called  fruit- 
cakes, and  also  a  quantity  of  little  cakes  with 
seeds,  nuts,  and  fruit  in  them,  —  so  pretty  to 
look  at  and  so  good  to  taste.  These  had  a 
thick  coat  of  icing,  some  brown,  some  pink, 
some  white.  I  had  thirteen  pounds  of  butter 
and  six  pint  jars  of  jelly,  so  we  melted  the 
jelly  and  poured  it  into  twelve  glasses. 

The  plan  was,  to  start  real  early  Christmas 

Eve  morning,  make  our  circuit  of  camps,  and 

wind  up  the  day  at  Frau  O'Shaughnessy's  to 

spend  the  night.    Yes,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 

69 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

is  Irish,  —  as  Irish  as  the  pigs  in  Dublin. 
Before  it  was  day  the  man  came  to  feed  and 
to  get  our  horses  ready.  We  were  up  betimes 
and  had  breakfast.  The  last  speck  was  wiped 
from  the  shining  stove,  the  kitchen  floor  was 
scrubbed,  and  the  last  small  thing  put  in 
order.  The  man  had  four  horses  harnessed 
and  hitched  to  the  sled,  on  which  was  placed 
a  wagon-box  filled  with  straw,  hot  rocks, 
and  blankets.  Our  twelve  apostles  —  that 
is  what  we  called  our  twelve  boxes  —  were 
lifted  in  and  tied  firmly  into  place.  Then 
we  clambered  in  and  away  we  went.  Mrs. 
Louderer  drove,  and  Tarn  O'Shanter  and 
Paul  Revere  were  snails  compared  to  us. 
We  did  n't  follow  any  road  either,  but  went 
sweeping  along  across  country.  No  one  else 
in  the  world  could  have  done  it  unless  they 
were  drunk.  We  went  careening  along  hill- 
sides without  even  slacking  the  trot.  Occa- 
sionally we  struck  a  particularly  stubborn 
bunch  of  sagebrush  and  even  the  sled-runners 
would  jump  up  into  the  air.  We  did  n't  stop 
70 


A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS 

to  light,  but  hit  the  earth  several  feet  in  ad- 
vance of  where  we  left  it.  Luck  was  with 
us,  though.  I  hardly  expected  to  get  through 
with  my  head  unbroken,  but  not  even  a 
glass  was  cracked. 

It  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  see 
the  sheep-men.  They  were  all  delighted,  and 
when  you  consider  that  they  live  solely  on 
canned  corn  and  tomatoes,  beans,  salt  pork, 
and  coffee,  you  can  fancy  what  they  thought 
of  their  treat.  They  have  mutton  when  it  is 
fit  to  eat,  but  that  is  certainly  not  in  winter. 
One  man  at  each  camp  does  the  cooking  and 
the  other  herds.  It  does  n't  make  any  differ- 
ence if  the  cook  never  cooked  before,  and 
most  of  them  never  did.  At  one  camp,  where 
we  stopped  for  dinner,  they  had  a  most  in- 
teresting collection  of  fossils.  After  deliver- 
ing our  last  "  apostle,"  we  turned  our  faces 
toward  Frau  O'Shaughnessy's,  and  got  there 
just  in  time  for  supper. 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  is  a  widow,  too,  and 
has  quite  an  interesting  story.  She  is  a 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

dumpy  little  woman  whose  small  nose  seems 
to  be  smelling  the  stars,  it  is  so  tip-tilted. 
She  has  the  merriest  blue  eyes  and  the  quick- 
est wit.  It  is  really  worth  a  severe  bumping 
just  to  be  welcomed  by  her.  It  was  so  warm 
and  cozy  in  her  low  little  cabin.  She  had  her 
table  set  for  supper,  but  she  laid  plates  for 
us  and  put  before  us  a  beautifully  roasted 
chicken.  Thrifty  Mrs.  Louderer  thought  it 
should  have  been  saved  until  next  day,  so 
she  said  to  Frau  O'Shaughnessy,  "We  hate 
to  eat  your  hen,  best  you  save  her  till  to- 
morrow." But  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  an- 
swered, "Oh,  'tis  no  mather,  'tis  an  ould 
hin  she  was  annyway."  So  we  enjoyed  the 
"ould  hin,"  which  was  brown,  juicy,  and 
tender. 

When  we  had  finished  supper  and  were 
drinking  our  "tay,"  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
told  our  fortunes  with  the  tea-leaves.  She  told 
mine  first  and  said  I  would  die  an  old  maid. 
I  said  it  was  rather  late  for  that,  but  she 
cheerfully  replied,  "Oh,  well,  better  late  than 
72 


A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS 

niver."  She  predicted  for  Mrs.  Louderer  that 
she  should  shortly  catch  a  beau.  "  'T  is  the 
next  man  you  see  that  will  come  coortin' 
you."  Before  we  left  the  table  some  one 
knocked  and  a  young  man,  a  sheep-herder, 
entered.  He  belonged  to  a  camp  a  few  miles 
away  and  is  out  from  Boston  in  search  of 
health.  He  had  been  into  town  and  his  horse 
was  lamed  so  he  could  not  make  it  into  camp, 
and  he  wanted  to  stay  overnight.  He  was 
a  stranger  to  us  all,  but  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
made  him  at  home  and  fixed  such  a  tempting 
supper  for  him  that  I  am  sure  he  was  glad  of 
the  chance  to  stay.  He  was  very  decidedly 
English,  and  powerfully  proud  of  it.  He 
asked  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  if  she  was  Irish 
and  she  said,  "No,  ye  haythen,  it's  Chinese 
Oi  am.  Can't  yez  tell  it  be  me  Cockney 
accint?"  Mr.  Boutwell  looked  very  much 
surprised.  I  don't  know  which  was  the  fun- 
nier, the  way  he  looked  or  what  she  said. 

We  had  a  late  breakfast  Christmas  morn- 
ing, but  before  we  were  through  Mr.  Stewart 
73 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

came.  We  had  planned  to  spend  the  day 
with  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  but  he  did  n't  ap- 
prove of  our  going  into  the  sheep  district, 
so  when  he  found  where  we  had  gone  he  came 
after  us.  Mrs.  Louderer  and  he  are  old  ac- 
quaintances and  he  bosses  her  around  like 
he  tries  to  boss  me.  Before  we  left,  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy's  married  daughter  came,  so 
we  knew  she  would  not  be  lonely. 

It  was  almost  one  o'clock  when  we  got 
home,  but  all  hands  helped  and  I  had  plenty 
cooked  anyway,  so  we  soon  had  a  good  din- 
ner on  the  table.  Mr.  Stewart  had  prepared 
a  Christmas  box  for  Jerrine  and  me.  He 
does  n't  approve  of  white  waists  in  the 
winter.  I  had  worn  one  at  the  wedding  and 
he  felt  personally  aggrieved.  For  me  in  the 
box  were  two  dresses,  that  is,  the  material 
to  make  them.  One  is  a  brown  and  red 
checked,  and  the  other  green  with  a  white 
fleck  in,  both  outing  flannel.  For  Jerrine 
there  was  a  pair  of  shoes  and  stockings,  both 
stockings  full  of  candy  and  nuts.  He  is  very 
74 


A  HAPPY  CHRISTMAS 

bluff  in  manner,  but  he  is  really  the  kindest 
person. 

Mrs.  Louderer  stayed  until  New  Year's 
day.  My  Christmas  was  really  a  very  happy 
one. 

Your  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 

.  .  .  An  interesting  day  on  this  ranch  is 
the  day  the  cattle  are  named.  If  Mr.  Stewart 
had  children  he  would  as  soon  think  of  leav- 
ing them  unnamed  as  to  let  a  "beastie"  go 
without  a  name. 

On  the  day  they  vaccinated  he  came  into 
the  kitchen  and  told  me  he  would  need  me 
to  help  him  name  the  "  critters. "  So  he  and 
I  "  assembled  "  in  a  safe  place  and  took  turns 
naming  the  calves.  As  fast  as  a  calf  was 
vaccinated  it  was  run  out  of  the  chute  and 
he  or  I  called  out  a  name  for  it  and  it  was 
booked  that  way. 

The  first  two  he  named  were  the  "Duke 
of  Monmouth"  and  the  "Duke  of  Mont- 
75 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

rose."  I  called  my  first  "Oliver  Cromwell" 
and  "John  Fox."  The  poor  "mon"  had  to 
have  revenge,  so  the  next  ugly,  scrawny  little 
beast  he  called  the  "Poop  of  Roome."  And 
it  was  a  heifer  calf,  too. 

This  morning  I  had  the  startling  news  that 
the  "Poop"  had  eaten  too  much  alfalfa  and 
was  all  "swellit  oop,"  and,  moreover,  he  had 
"stealit  it."  I  don't  know  which  is  the  more 
astonishing,  that  the  Pope  has  stolen  alfalfa, 
or  that  he  has  eaten  it. 

We  have  a  swell  lot  of  names,  but  I  am 
not  sure  I  could  tell  you  which  is  "Bloody 
Mary,"  or  which  is  "Elizabeth,"  or,  indeed, 
which  is  which  of  any  of  them. 

E.  R. 


IX 

A   CONFESSION 

April  5,  1910. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY, — 

I  find  upon  re-reading  your  letter  that  I 
did  not  answer  it  at  all  when  I  wrote  you. 
You  must  think  me  very  indifferent,  but  I 
really  don't  mean  to  be. 

My  house  joins  on  to  Mr.  Stewart's  house. 
It  was  built  that  way  so  that  I  could  "hold 
down"  my  land  and  job  at  the  same  time. 
I  see  the  wisdom  of  it  now,  though  at  first  I 
did  not  want  it  that  way.  My  boundary 
lines  run  within  two  feet  of  Mr.  Stewart's 
house,  so  it  was  quite  easy  to  build  on. 

I  think  the  Pattersons'  ranch  is  about 
twenty-five  miles  from  us.  I  am  glad  to  tell 
you  they  are  doing  splendidly.  Gale  is  just 
as  thrifty  as  she  can  be  and  Bobby  is  steady 
and  making  money  fast.  Their  baby  is  the 
77 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

dearest  little  thing.  I  have  heard  that 
Sedalia  is  to  marry  a  Mormon  bishop,  but  I 
doubt  it.  She  puts  on  very  disgusting  airs 
about  "our  Bobby,"  and  she  patronizes  Gale 
most  shamefully;  but  Gale,  bless  her  uncon- 
scious heart,  is  so  happy  in  her  husband  and 
son  that  she  does  n't  know  Sedalia  is  insult- 
ing. 

My  dear  old  grandmother  whom  I  loved 
so  much  has  gone  home  to  God.  I  used  to 
write  long  letters  to  her.  I  should  like  a  few 
addresses  of  old  persons  who  are  lonely  as 
she  was,  who  would  like  letters  such  as  I 
write.  You  know  I  can't  be  brief.  I  have 
tried  and  cannot.  If  you  know  of  any  persons 
who  would  not  tire  of  my  long  accounts  and 
would  care  to  have  them,  you  will  be  doing 
me  a  favor  to  let  me  know. 

I  have  not  treated  you  quite  frankly  about 
something  you  had  a  right  to  know  about. 
I  am  ashamed  and  I  regret  very  much  that  I 
have  not  told  you.  I  so  dread  the  possibility 
of  losing  your  friendship  that  I  will  never  tell 

78 


A  CONFESSION 

you  unless  you  promise  me  beforehand  to 
forgive  me.  I  know  that  is  unfair,  but  it  is 
the  only  way  I  can  see  out  of  a  difficulty  that 
my  foolish  reticence  has  led  me  into.  Few 
people,  perhaps,  consider  me  reticent,  but  in 
some  cases  I  am  afraid  I  am  even  deceitful. 
Won't  you  make  it  easy  to  "'fess"  so  I  may 
be  happy  again? 

Truly  your  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 

June  1 6,  1910. 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  — 

Your  card  just  to  hand.  I  wrote  you  some 
time  ago  telling  you  I  had  a  confession  to 
make  and  have  had  no  letter  since,  so  thought 
perhaps  you  were  scared  I  had  done  some- 
thing too  bad  to  forgive.  I  am  suffering  just 
now  from  eye-strain  and  can't  see  to  write 
long  at  a  time,  but  I  reckon  I  had  better 
confess  and  get  it  done  with. 

The  thing  I  have  done  is  to  marry  Mr. 
Stewart.    It  was  such  an  inconsistent  thing 
79 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

to  do  that  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  you.  And, 
too,  I  was  afraid  you  would  think  I  did  n't 
need  your  friendship  and  might  desert  me. 
Another  of  my  friends  thinks  that  way. 

I  hope  my  eyes  will  be  better  soon  and 
then  I  will  write  you  a  long  letter. 

Your  old  friend  with  a  new  name, 

ELINORE  STEWART. 


X 

THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

August  15,  1910. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

.  .  .  Grandma  Edmonson's  birthday  is 
the  30th  of  May,  and  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
suggested  that  we  give  her  a  party.  I  had 
never  seen  Grandma,  but  because  of  some- 
thing that  happened  in  her  family  years  ago 
which  a  few  narrow-heads  whom  it  did  n't 
concern  in  the  least  cannot  forgive  or  forget, 
I  had  heard  much  of  her.  The  family  con- 
sists of  Grandma,  Grandpa,  and  little  Cora 
Belle,  who  is  the  sweetest  little  bud  that  ever 
bloomed  upon  the  twigs  of  folly. 

The  Edmonsons  had  only  one  child,  a 
daughter,  who  was  to  have  married  a  man 
whom  her  parents  objected  to  solely  because 
he  was  a  sheep-man,  while  their  sympathies 
were  with  the  cattle-men,  although  they 
81 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

owned  only  a  small  bunch.  To  gain  their 
consent  the  young  man  closed  but  his  interest 
in  sheep,  at  a  loss,  filed  on  a  splendid  piece  of 
land  near  them,  and  built  a  little  home  for  the 
girl  he  loved.  Before  they  could  get  to  town 
to  be  married  Grandpa  was  stricken  with 
rheumatism.  Grandma  was  already  almost 
past  going  on  with  it,  so  they  postponed  the 
marriage,  and  as  that  winter  was  particu- 
larly severe,  the  young  man  took  charge  of 
the  Edmonson  stock  and  kept  them  from 
starving.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  he  went  for 
the  license. 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  and  a  neighbor  were 
hunting  some  cattle  that  had  wandered  away 
and  found  the  poor  fellow  shot  in  the  back. 
He  was  not  yet  dead  and  told  them  it  was 
urgently  necessary  for  them  to  hurry  him 
to  the  Edmonsons'  and  to  get  some  one  to 
perform  the  marriage  ceremony  as  quickly 
as  possible,  for  he  could  not  live  long.  They 
told  him  such  haste  meant  quicker  death 
because  he  would  bleed  more;  but  he  in- 
82 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

sisted,  so  they  got  a  wagon  and  hurried  all 
they  could.  But  they  could  not  outrun 
death.  When  he  knew  he  could  not  live  to 
reach  home,  he  asked  them  to  witness  all  he 
said.  Everything  he  possessed  he  left  to  the 
girl  he  was  to  have  married,  and  said  he  was 
the  father  of  the  little  child  that  was  to  come. 
He  begged  them  to  befriend  the  poor  girl  he 
had  to  leave  in  such  a  condition,  and  to  take 
the  marriage  license  as  evidence  that  he  had 
tried  'to  do  right.  The  wagon  was  stopped 
so  the  jolting  would  not  make  death  any 
harder,  and  there  in  the  shadow  of  the  great 
twin  buttes  he  died. 

They  took  the  body  to  the  little  home  he 
had  made,  and  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  went  to 
the  Edmonsons'  to  do  what  she  could  there. 
Poor  Cora  Jane  did  n't  know  how  terrible  a 
thing  wounded  pride  is.  She  told  her  parents 
her  misdeeds.  They  could  n't  see  that  they 
were  in  any  way  to  blame.  They  seemed 
to  care  nothing  for  her  terrible  sorrow  nor 
for  her  weakened  condition.  All  they  could 

83 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

think  of  was  that  the  child  they  had  almost 
worshiped  had  disgraced  them ;  so  they  told 
her  to  go. 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  took  her  to  the  home 
that  had  been  prepared  for  her,  where  the 
poor  body  lay.  Some  way  they  got  through 
those  dark  days,  and  then  began  the  waiting 
for  the  little  one  to  come.  Poor  Cora  Jane 
said  she  would  die  then,  and  that  she  wanted 
to  die,  but  she  wanted  the  baby  to  know 
it  was  loved,  —  she  wanted  to  leave  some- 
thing that  should  speak  of  that  love  when  the 
child  should  come  to  understanding.  So  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  said  they  would  make  all  its 
little  clothes  with  every  care,  and  they 
should  tell  of  the  love.  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
is  the  daintiest  needleworker  I  have  ever 
seen;  she  was  taught  by  the  nuns  at  St. 
Catherine's  in  the  "ould  country."  She  was 
all  patience  with  poor,  unskilled  Cora  Jane, 
and  the  little  outfit  that  was  finally  finished 
was  dainty  enough  for  a  fairy.  Little  Cora 
Belle  is  so  proud  of  it. 
84 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

At  last  the  time  came  and  Mrs.  O'Shaugh- 
nessy  went  after  the  parents.  Long  before, 
they  had  repented  and  were  only  too  glad  to 
go.  The  poor  mother  lived  one  day  and  night 
after  the  baby  came.  She  laid  the  tiny  thing 
in  her  mother's  arms  and  told  them  to  call 
her  Cora  Belle.  She  told  them  she  gave  them 
a  pure  little  daughter  in  place  of  the  sinful 
one  they  had  lost. 

That  was  almost  twelve  years  ago,  and 
the  Edmonsons  have  lived  in  the  new  house 
all  this  time.  The  deed  to  the  place  was  made 
out  to  Cora  Belle,  and  her  grandfather  is  her 
guardian.  .  .  . 

If  you  traveled  due  north  from  my  home, 
after  about  nine  hours'  ride  you  would  come 
into  an  open  space  in  the  butte  lands,  and 
away  between  two  buttes  you  would  see  the 
glimmer  of  blue  water.  As  you  drew  nearer 
you  would  be  able  to  see  the  fringe  of  willows 
around  the  lake,  and  presently  a  low,  red- 
roofed  house  with  corrals  and  stables.  You 
would  see  long  lines  of  "buck"  fence,  a  flock 

85 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

of  sheep  near  by,  and  cattle  scattered  about 
feeding.  This  is  Cora  Belle's  home.  On  the 
long,  low  porch  you  would  see  two  old  folks 
rocking.  The  man  is  small,  and  has  rheuma- 
tism in  his  legs  and  feet  so  badly  that  he  can 
barely  hobble.  The  old  lady  is  large  and  fat, 
and  is  also  afflicted  with  rheumatism,  but 
has  it  in  her  arms  and  shoulders.  They  are 
both  cheerful  and  hopeful,  and  you  would 
get  a  cordial  welcome.  .  .  . 

When  you  saw  Cora  Belle  you  would  see 
a  stout,  square-built  little  figure  with  long 
flaxen  braids,  a  pair  of  beautiful  brown  eyes 
and  the  longest  and  whitest  lashes  you  ever 
saw,  a  straight  nose,  a  short  upper  lip,  a 
broad,  full  forehead,  —  the  whole  face, 
neither  pretty  nor  ugly,  plentifully  sown 
with  the  brownest  freckles.  She  is  very  truly 
the  head  of  the  family,  doing  all  the  house- 
work and  looking  after  the  stock,  winter  and 
summer,  entirely  by  herself.  Three  years  ago 
she  took  things  into  her  own  hands,  and  since 
that  time  has  managed  altogether.  Mrs. 
86 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

O'Shaughnessy,  however,  tells  her  what  to 
do. 

The  sheep,  forty  in  number,  are  the  result 
of  her  individual  efforts.  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
told  her  there  was  more  money  in  raising 
lambs  than  in  raising  chickens,  so  she  quit 
the  chickens  as  a  business  and  went  to  some 
of  the  big  sheep-men  and  got  permission  to 
take  the  "dogie"  lambs,  which  they  are  glad 
to  give  away.  She  had  plenty  of  cows,  so 
she  milked  cows  and  fed  lambs  all  day  long 
all  last  year.  This  year  she  has  forty  head  of 
nice  sheep  worth  four  dollars  each,  and  she 
does  n't  have  to  feed  them  the  year  round 
as  she  would  chickens,  and  the  wolves  are 
no  worse  to  kill  sheep  than  they  are  to  kill 
chickens.  When  shearing-time  came  she 
went  to  a  sheep-man  and  told  him  she  would 
help  cook  for  his  men  one  week  if  he  would 
have  her  sheep  sheared  with  his.  She  said 
her  work  was  worth  three  dollars,  that  is 
what  one  man  would  get  a  day  shearing,  and 
he  could  easily  shear  her  sheep  in  one  day. 
87 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

That  is  how  she  got  her  sheep  sheared.  The 
man  had  her  wool  hauled  to  town  with  his, 
sold  it  for  her,  and  it  brought  sixty  dollars. 
She  took  her  money  to  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy. 
She  wanted  some  supplies  ordered  before 
she  went  home,  because,  as  she  gravely  said, 
"the  rheumatiz  would  get  all  the  money  she 
had  left  when  she  got  home,"  —  meaning 
that  her  grandparents  would  spend  what 
remained  for  medicine. 

The  poor  old  grandparents  read  all  the 
time  of  wonderful  cures  that  different  dopes 
accomplish,  and  they  spend  every  nickel  they 
can  get  their  hands  on  for  nostrums.  They 
try  everything  they  read  of,  and  have  to  buy 
it  by  the  case,  —  horrid  patent  stuff !  They 
have  rolls  of  testimonials  and  believe  every 
word,  so  they  keep  on  trying  and  hoping. 
When  there  is  any  money  they  each  order 
whatever  medicine  they  want  to  try.  If 
Mrs.  Edmonson's  does  n't  seem  to  help  her, 
Grandpa  takes  it  and  she  takes  his,  —  that  is 
their  idea  of  economy.  They  would  spend 
88 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

hours  telling  you  about  their  different  reme- 
dies and  would  offer  you  spoonful  after 
spoonful  of  vile-looking  liquid,  and  be  mildly 
grieved  when  you  refused  to  take  it.  Grand- 
ma's hands  are  so  bent  and  twisted  that  she 
can't  sew,  so  dear  old  Grandpa  tries  to  do  it. 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  told  me  that  she 
helped  out  when  she  could.  Three  years  ago 
she  made  them  all  a  complete  outfit,  but  the 
"rheumatiz"  has  been  getting  all  the  spare 
money  since  then,  so  there  has  been  nothing 
to  sew.  A  peddler  sold  them  a  piece  of  ging- 
ham which  they  made  up  for  Cora  Belle.  It 
was  broad  pink  and  white  stripes,  and  they 
wanted  some  style  to  "Cory's"  clothes,  so 
they  cut  a  gored  skirt.  But  they  had  no  pat- 
tern and  made  the  gores  by  folding  a  width 
of  the  goods  biasly  and  cutting  it  that  way.  It 
was  put  together  with  no  regard  to  match- 
ing the  stripes,  and  a  bias  seam  came  in  the 
center  behind,  but  they  put  no  stay  in  the 
seam  and  the  result  was  the  most  outrageous 
affair  imaginable. 

89 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Well,  we  had  a  large  room  almost  empty 
and  Mr.  Stewart  liked  the  idea  of  a  party, 
so  Mrs.  Louderer,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  and 
myself  planned  for  the  event.  It  was  to  be 
a  sewing-bee,  a  few  good  neighbors  invited, 
and  all  to  sew  for  Grandma.  .  .  .  So  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  went  to  Grandma's  and  got 
all  the  material  she  had  to  make  up.  I  had 
saved  some  sugar-bags  and  some  flour-bags. 
I  knew  Cora  Belle  needed  underwear,  so  I 
made  her  some  little  petticoats  of  the  larger 
bags  and  some  drawers  of  the  smaller.  I  had 
a  small  piece  of  white  lawn  that  I  had  no  use 
for,  and  of  that  I  made  a  dear  little  sunbon- 
net  with  a  narrow  edging  of  lace  around,  and 
also  made  a  gingham  bonnet  for  her.  Two 
days  before  the  time,  came  Mrs.  Louderer, 
laden  with  bundles,  and  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy, 
also  laden.  We  had  all  been  thinking  of  Cora 
Belle.  Mr.  Stewart  had  sent  by  mail  for  her 
a  pair  of  sandals  for  everyday  wear  and  a 
nice  pair  of  shoes,  also  some  stockings.  Mrs. 
Louderer  brought  cloth  for  three  dresses  of 
90 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

heavy  Dutch  calico,  and  gingham  for  three 
aprons.  She  made  them  herself  and  she  sews 
so  carefully.  She  had  bought  patterns  and 
the  little  dresses  were  stylishly  made,  as  well 
as  well  made.  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  brought 
a  piece  of  crossbar  with  a  tiny  forget-me- 
not  polka  dot,  and  also  had  goods  and 
embroidery  for  a  suit  of  underwear.  My 
own  poor  efforts  were  already  completed 
when  the  rest  came,  so  I  was  free  to  help 
them. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  29th  a  funny 
something  showed  up.  Fancy  a  squeaky, 
rickety  old  wagon  without  a  vestige  of  paint. 
The  tires  had  come  off  and  had  been  "set" 
at  home;  that  is  done  by  heating  the  tires 
red-hot  and  having  the  rims  of  the  wheels 
covered  with  several  layers  of  burlap,  or 
other  old  rags,  well  wet;  then  the  red-hot 
tire  is  put  on  and  water  hurriedly  poured  on 
to  shrink  the  iron  and  to  keep  the  burlap 
from  blazing.  Well,  whoever  had  set  Cora 
Belle's  tires  had  forgotten  to  cut  away  the 
91 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

surplus  burlap,  so  all  the  ragtags  were  merrily 
waving  in  the  breeze. 

Cora  Belle's  team  would  bring  a  smile  to 
the  soberest  face  alive.  Sheba  is  a  tall,  lanky 
old  mare.  Once  she  was  bay  in  color,  but  the 
years  have  added  gray  hair  until  now  she  is 
roan.  Being  so  long-legged  she  strides  along 
at  an  amazing  pace  which  her  mate,  Balaam, 
a  little  donkey,  finds  it  hard  to  keep  up  with. 
Balaam,  like  Sheba,  is  full  of  years.  Once 
his  glossy  brown  coat  was  the  pride  of  some 
Mexican's  heart,  but  time  has  added  to  his 
color  also,  and  now  he  is  blue.  His  eyes  are 
sunken  and  dim,  his  ears  no  longer  stand  up 
in  true  donkey  style,  but  droop  dejectedly. 
He  has  to  trot  his  best  to  keep  up  with 
Sheba's  slowest  stride.  About  every  three 
miles  he  balks,  but  little  Cora  Belle  does  n't 
call  it  balking,  she  says  Balaam  has  stopped 
to  rest,  and  they  sit  and  wait  till  he  is  ready  to 
trot  along  again.  That  is  the  kind  of  layout 
which  drew  up  before  our  door  that  evening. 
Cora  Belle  was  driving  and  she  wore  her 
92 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

wonderful  pink  dress  which  hung  down  in  a 
peak  behind,  fully  six  inches  longer  than  any- 
where else.  The  poor  child  had  no  shoes.  The 
winter  had  tried  the  last  pair  to  their  utmost 
endurance  and  the  "rheumatiz"  had  long 
since  got  the  last  dollar,  so  she  came  with  her 
chubby  little  sunburned  legs  bare.  Her  poor 
little  scarred  feet  were  clean,  her  toe-nails 
full  of  nicks  almost  into  the  quick,  broken 
against  rocks  when  she  had  been  herding  her 
sheep.  In  the  back  of  the  wagon,  flat  on  the 
bottom,  sat  Grandma  and  Grandpa,  such 
bundles  of  coats  and  blankets  I  can't  de- 
scribe. After  a  great  deal  of  trouble  we  got 
them  unloaded  and  into  the  house.  Then 
Mrs.  Louderer  entertained  them  while  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  and  I  prepared  supper  and 
got  a  bath  ready  for  Cora  Belle.  We  had 
a  T-bone  steak,  mashed  potatoes,  hominy, 
hot  biscuits  and  butter,  and  stewed  prunes. 
Their  long  ride  had  made  them  hungry  and 
I  know  they  enjoyed  their  meal. 
After  supper  Cora  Belle  and  I  washed  the 
93 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

dishes  while  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  laid  out 
the  little  clothes.  Cora  Belle's  clothes  were 
to  be  a  surprise.  The  postmistress  here  also 
keeps  a  small  store  and  has  ribbon,  and  when 
she  heard  of  our  plans  from  Mr.  Stewart  she 
sent  up  a  couple  of  pairs  of  hair-ribbon  for 
Cora  Belle.  Soon  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  called 
us,  and  Cora  Belle  and  I  went  into  the  bed- 
room where  she  was.  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  that  child !  Poor  little  neglected  thing, 
she  began  to  cry.  She  said,  "They  ain't  for 
me,  I  know  they  ain't.  Why,  it  ain't  my 
birthday,  it's  Granny's."  Nevertheless,  she 
had  her  arms  full  of  them  and  was  clutch- 
ing them  so  tightly  with  her  work-worn  little 
hands  that  we  could  n't  get  them.  She 
sobbed  so  deeply  that  Grandma  heard  her 
and  became  alarmed.  She  hobbled  to  the 
door  and  pounded  with  her  poor  twisted 
hands,  calling  all  the  while,  "Cory,  Cory 
Belle,  what  ails  you?"  She  got  so  excited 
that  I  opened  the  door,  but  Cora  Belle  told 
her  to  go  away.  She  said,  "They  ain't 
94 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

for  you,  Granny,  and   they   ain't   for  me 
either."  .  .  . 

People  here  observe  Decoration  Day 
faithfully,  and  Cora  Belle  had  brought  half 
a  wagon-load  of  iris,  which  grows  wild  here. 
Next  morning  we  were  all  up  early,  but  Cora 
Belle's  flowers  had  wilted  and  she  had  to 
gather  more,  but  we  all  hurried  and  helped. 
She  said  as  she  was  going  to  see  her  mother 
she  wanted  to  wear  her  prettiest  dress,  so 
Gale  and  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  helped  her  to 
get  ready.  The  cemetery  is  only  about  two 
miles  away,  so  we  were  all  down  quite  early. 
We  were  obliged  to  hurry  because  others 
were  coming  to  help  sew.  Cora  Belle  went 
at  once  to  the  graves  where  her  parents  lie 
side  by  side,  and  began  talking  to  her  mother 
just  as  though  she  saw  her.  "You  did  n't 
know  me,  did  you,  Mother,  with  my  pretty 
new  things  ?  But  I  am  your  little  girl, 
Mamma.  I  am  your  little  Cora  Belle."  After 
she  had  talked  and  had  turned  every  way 
like  a  proud  little  bird,  she  went  to  work. 
95 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

And,  oh,  how  fast  she  worked!  Both  graves 
were  first  completely  covered  with  pine 
boughs.  It  looked  like  sod,  so  closely  were 
the  little  twigs  laid.  Next  she  broke  the 
stems  off  the  iris  and  scattered  the  blossoms 
over,  and  the  effect  was  very  beautiful.  Then 
we  hurried  home  and  everybody  got  busy. 
The  men  took  Grandpa  off  to  another  part 
of  the  ranch  where  they  were  fanning  oats  to 
plant,  and  kept  him  all  day.  That  was  good 
for  him  because  then  he  could  be  with  the 
men  all  day  and  he  so  seldom  has  a  chance  to 
be  with  men.  Several  ladies  came  and  they 
all  made  themselves  at  home  and  worked 
like  beavers,  and  we  all  had  a  fine  time.  .  .  . 
Sedalia  was  present  and  almost  caused  a 
riot.  She  says  she  likes  unusual  words  be- 
cause they  lend  distinction  to  conversation. 
Well,  they  do  —  sometimes.  There  was  an- 
other lady  present  whose  children  are  very 
gifted  musically,  but  who  have  the  bad  name 
of  taking  what  they  want  without  asking. 
The  mother  can  neither  read  nor  write,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

she  is  very  sensitive  about  the  bad  name  her 
children  have.  While  we  were  all  busy  some 
one  made  a  remark  about  how  smart  these 
children  were.  Sedalia  thought  that  a  good 
time  to  get  in  a  big  word,  so  she  said,  "Yes, 
I  have  always  said  Lula  was  a  progeny." 
Mrs.  Hall  did  n't  know  what  she  meant  and 
thought  that  she  was  casting  reflections  on 
her  child's  honesty,  so  with  her  face  scarlet 
and  her  eyes  blazing  she  said,  "Sedalia  Lane, 
I  won't  allow  you  nor  nobody  else  to  say  my 
child  is  a  progeny.  You  can  take  that  back 
or  I  will  slap  you  peaked."  Sedalia  took  it 
back  in  a  hurry,  so  I  guess  little  Lula  Hall 
is  not  a  progeny. 

Every  one  left  about  four  except  Gale, 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  Mrs.  Louderer,  and  the 
Edmonsons.  They  had  farthest  to  go,  so 
they  stayed  over  night  again.  We  worked 
until  ten  o'clock  that  night  over  Grandma's 
clothes,  but  everything  was  thoroughly  fin- 
ished. Every  button  was  on,  every  thread- 
end  knotted  and  clipped,  and  some  tired 
97 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

workers  lay  down  to  rest,  as  did  a  very  happy 
child  and  a  very  thankful  old  lady. 

Every  one  got  away  by  ten  o'clock  the 
next  morning.  The  last  I  saw  of  little  Cora 
Belle  was  when  they  had  reached  the  top  of 
a  long  slope  and  Balaam  had  "stopped  to 
rest."  The  breeze  from  the  south  was  play- 
fully fluttering  the  rags  on  the  wheels.  Pres- 
ently I  heard  a  long  "hee-haw,  hee-haw,"  and 
I  knew  Balaam  had  rested  and  had  started. 

I  have  been  a  very  busy  woman  since  I 
began  this  letter  to  you  several  days  ago. 
A  dear  little  child  has  joined  the  angels.  I 
dressed  him  and  helped  to  make  his  casket. 
There  is  no  minister  in  this  whole  country 
and  I  could  not  bear  the  little  broken  lily- 
bud  to  be  just  carted  away  and  buried,  so  I 
arranged  the  funeral  and  conducted  the  serv- 
ices. I  know  I  am  unworthy  and  in  no  way 
fitted  for  such  a  mission,  but  I  did  my  poor 
best,  and  if  no  one  else  is  comforted,  I  am. 
I  know  the  message  of  God's  love  and  care 
has  been  told  once,  anyway,  to  people  who 


THE  STORY  OF  CORA  BELLE 

have  learned  to  believe  more  strongly  in  hell 
than  in  heaven. 

Dear  friend,  I  do  hope  that  this  New  Year 

will  bring  you  and  yours  fuller  joys  than  you 

have  ever  known.  If  I  had  all  the  good  gifts 

in  my  hands  you  should  certainly  be  blessed. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT  STEWART. 


XI 

ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

September  i,  1910. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

It  was  just  a  few  days  after  the  birthday 
party  and  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  was  with  me 
again.  We  were  down  at  the  barn  looking  at 
some  new  pigs,  when  we  heard  the  big  corral 
gates  swing  shut,  so  we  hastened  out  to  see 
who  it  could  be  so  late  in  the  day. 

It  was  Zebbie.  He  had  come  on  the  stage 
to  Burnt  Fork  and  the  driver  had  brought 
him  on  here.  .  .  .  There  was  so  much  to  tell, 
and  he  whispered  he  had  something  to  tell 
me  privately,  but  that  he  was  too  tired  then ; 
so  after  supper  I  hustled  him  off  to  bed.  .  .  . 

Next  morning  .  .  .  the  men  went  off  to 

their  work  and  Zebbie  and  I  were  left  to  tell 

secrets.  When  he  was  sure  we  were  alone  he 

took  from  his  trunk  a  long,  flat  box.    Inside 

100 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY* 

was  the  most  wonderful  shirt  I  have  ever 
seen;  it  looked  like  a  cross  between  a  night- 
shirt and  a  shirt-waist.  It  was  of  homespun 
linen.  The  bosom  was  ruffled  and  tucked,  all 
done  by  hand,  —  such  tiny  stitches,  such 
patience  and  skill.  Then  he  handed  me  an 
old  daguerreotype.  I  unfastened  the  little 
golden  hook  and  inside  was  a  face  good  to 
see  and  to  remember.  It  was  dim,  yet  clear 
in  outline,  just  as  if  she  were  looking  out 
from  the  mellow  twilight  of  long  ago.  The 
sweet,  elusive  smile,  —  I  could  n't  tell  where 
it  was,  whether  it  was  the  mouth  or  the 
beautiful  eyes  that  were  smiling.  All  that 
was  visible  of  her  dress  was  the  Dutch  collar, 
just  like  what  is  being  worn  now.  It  was 
pinned  with  an  ugly  old  brooch  which  Zebbie 
said  was  a  "breast-pin"  he  had  given  her. 
Under  the  glass  on  the  other  side  was  a  strand 
of  faded  hair  and  a  slip  of  paper.  The  writing 
on  the  paper  was  so  faded  it  was  scarcely 
readable,  but  it  said:  "Pauline  Gorley,  age 
22,  i860." 

101 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Next  he  showed  me  a  note  written  by 
Pauline,  simply  worded,  but  it  held  a  world 
of  meaning  for  Zebbie.  It  said,  "  I  spun  and 
wove  this  cloth  at  Adeline's,  enough  for  me  a 
dress  and  you  a  shirt,  which  I  made.  It  is 
for  the  wedding,  else  to  be  buried  in.  Yours, 
Pauline.'1  The  shirt,  the  picture,  and  the  note 
had  waited  for  him  all  these  years  in  Mothie's 
care.  And  now  I  will  tell  you  the  story. 

Long,  long  ago  some  one  did  something  to 
some  one  else  and  started  a  feud.  Unfortu- 
nately the  Gorleys  were  on  one  side  and  the 
Parkers  on  the  other.  That  it  all  happened 
before  either  Zebbie  or  Pauline  was  born 
made  no  difference.  A  Gorley  must  hate  a 
Parker  always,  as  also  a  Parker  must  hate 
a  Gorley.  Pauline  was  the  only  girl,  and  she 
had  a  regiment  of  big  brothers  who  gloried 
in  the  warfare  and  wanted  only  the  slightest 
pretext  to  shoot  a  Parker.  So  they  grew  up, 
and  Zebbie  often  met  Pauline  at  the  quiltings 
and  other  gatherings  at  the  homes  of  non- 
partisans.  He  remembers  her  so  perfectly 
102 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

and  describes  her  so  plainly  that  I  can  pic- 
ture her  easily.  She  had  brown  eyes  and  hair. 
She  used  to  ride  about  on  her  sorrel  palfrey 
with  her  "nigger"  boy  Caesar  on  behind  to 
open  and  shut  plantation  gates.  She  wore 
a  pink  calico  sunbonnet,  and  Zebbie  says 
"she  was  just  like  the  pink  hollyhocks  that 
grew  by  mother's  window."  Is  n't  that  a 
sweet  picture? 

Her  mother  and  father  were  both  dead, 
and  she  and  her  brothers  lived  on  their 
plantation.  Zebbie  had  never  dared  speak 
to  her  until  one  day  he  had  driven  over  with 
his  mother  and  sisters  to  a  dinner  given  on 
a  neighboring  plantation.  He  was  standing 
outside  near  the  wall,  when  some  one  dropped 
a  spray  of  apple  blossoms  down  upon  him 
from  an  upper  window.  He  looked  up  and 
Pauline  was  leaning  out  smiling  at  him.  After 
that  he  made  it  a  point  to  frequent  places 
where  he  might  expect  her,  and  things  went 
so  well  that  presently  Caesar  was  left  at  home 
lest  he  should  tell  the  brothers.  She  was 
103 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

a  loyal  little  soul  and  would  not  desert, 
although  he  urged  her  to,  even  promising 
to  go  away,  "plumb  away,  clean  to  Scott 
County  if  she  would  go."  She  told  him  that 
her  brothers  would  go  even  as  far  as  that  to 
kill  him,  so  that  they  must  wait  and  hope. 
Finally  Zebbie  got  tired  of  waiting,  and  one 
day  he  boldly  rode  up  to  the  Gorley  home 
and  formally  asked  for  Pauline's  hand.  The 
bullet  he  got  for  his  presumption  kept  him 
from  going  to  the  war  with  his  father  and 
brother  when  they  marched  away. 

Some  time  later  George  Gorley  was  shot 
and  killed  from  ambush,  and  although  Zeb- 
bie had  not  yet  left  his  bed  the  Gorleys  be- 
lieved he  did  it,  and  one  night  Pauline  came 
through  a  heavy  rainstorm,  with  only  Caesar, 
to  warn  Zebbie  and  to  beg  him,  for  her 
sake,  to  get  away  as  fast  as  he  could  that 
night.  She  pleaded  that  she  could  not  live  if 
he  were  killed  and  could  never  marry  him  if 
he  killed  her  brothers,  so  she  persuaded  him 
to  go  while  they  were  all  innocent. 
104 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

,  Well,  he  did  as  she  wished  and  they  never 
saw  each  other  again.  He  never  went  home 
again  until  last  Thanksgiving,  and  dear  little 
Pauline  had  been  dead  for  years.  She  her- 
self had  taken  her  little  gifts  for  Zebbie  to 
Mothie  to  keep  for  him.  Some  years  later 
she  died  and  was  buried  in  the  dress  she 
mentioned.  It  was  woven  at  Adeline  Car- 
ter's, one  of  the  bitterest  enemies  of  the  Gor- 
leys,  but  the  sacrifice  of  her  pride  did  her 
no  good  because  she  was  long  at  rest  before 
Zebbie  knew.  He  had  been  greatly  grieved 
because  no  stone  marked  her  grave,  only  a 
tangle  of  rose-briers.  So  he  bought  a  stone, 
and  in  the  night  before  Decoration  Day  he 
and  two  of  Uncle  Buck's  grandsons  went  to 
the  Gorley  burying-ground  and  raised  it  to 
the  memory  of  sweet  Pauline.  Some  of  the 
Gorley s  still  live  there,  so  he  came  home  at 
once,  fearing  if  they  should  find  out  who 
placed  the  stone  above  their  sister  they 
would  take  vengeance  on  his  poor,  frail  body. 
After  he  had  finished  telling  me  his  story, 
105 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

I  felt  just  as  I  used  to  when  Grandmother 
opened  the  "big  chist"  to  air  her  wedding 
clothes  and  the  dress  each  of  her  babies  wore 
when  baptized.  It  seemed  almost  like  smell- 
ing the  lavender  and  rose-leaves,  and  it  was 
with  reverent  fingers  that  I  folded  the  shirt, 
the  work  of  love,  yellow  with  age,  and  laid  it 
in  the  box.  .  .  . 

Well,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  returned,  and 
early  one  morning  we  started  with  a  wagon 
and  a  bulging  mess-box  for  Zebbie's  home. 
We  were  going  a  new  and  longer  route  in 
order  to  take  the  wagon.  Dandelions  spread 
a  carpet  of  gold.  Larkspur  grew  waist-high 
with  its  long  spikes  of  blue.  The  service- 
bushes  and  the  wild  cherries  were  a  mass  of 
white  beauty.  Meadowlarks  and  robins  and 
bluebirds  twittered  and  sang  from  every 
branch,  it  almost  seemed.  A  sky  of  tenderest 
blue  bent  over  us  and  fleecy  little  clouds 
drifted  lazily  across.  .  .  .  Soon  we  came  to 
the  pineries,  where  we  traveled  up  deep 
gorges  and  canons.  The  sun  shot  arrows  of 
1 06 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

gold  through  the  pines  down  upon  us  and 
we  gathered  our  arms  full  of  columbines. 
The  little  black  squirrels  barked  and  chat- 
tered saucily  as  we  passed  along,  and  we 
were  all  children  together.  We  forgot  all 
about  feuds  and  partings,  death  and  hard 
times.  All  we  remembered  was  that  God  is 
good  and  the  world  is  wide  and  beautiful. 
We  plodded  along  all  day.  Next  morning 
there  was  a  blue  haze  that  Zebbie  said 
meant  there  would  be  a  high  wind,  so  we 
hurried  to  reach  his  home  that  evening. 

The  sun  was  hanging  like  a  great  red  ball 
in  the  smoky  haze  when  we  entered  the  long 
canon  in  which  is  Zebbie's  cabin.  Already  it 
was  dusky  in  the  canons  below,  but  not  a 
breath  of  air  stirred.  A  more  delighted  man 
than  Zebbie  I  never  saw  when  we  finally 
drove  up  to  his  low,  comfortable  cabin. 
Smoke  was  slowly  rising  from  the  chimney, 
and  Gavotte,  the  man  in  charge,  rushed  out 
and  the  hounds  set  up  a  joyful  barking. 
Gavotte  is  a  Frenchman,  and  he  was  all 
107 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

smiles  and  gesticulations  as  he  said,  "Wel- 
come, welcome!  To-day  I  am  rejoice  you 
have  come.  Yesterday  I  am  despair  if  you 
have  come  because  I  am  scrub,  but  to-day, 
behold,  I  am  delight." 

I  have  heard  of  clean  people,  but  Gavotte 
is  the  cleanest  man  I  ever  saw.  The  cabin 
floor  was  so  white  I  hated  to  step  upon  it. 
The  windows  shone,  and  at  each  there  was 
a  calico  curtain,  blue-and-white  check,  un- 
ironed  but  newly  washed.  In  one  window  was 
an  old  brown  pitcher,  cracked  and  nicked, 
filled  with  thistles.  I  never  thought  them 
pretty  before,  but  the  pearly  pink  and  the 
silvery  green  were  so  pretty  and  looked  so 
clean  that  they  had  a  new  beauty.  Above 
the  fireplace  was  a  great  black  eagle  which 
Gavotte  had  killed,  the  wings  outspread  and 
a  bunch  of  arrows  in  the  claws.  In  one  corner 
near  the  fire  was  a  washstand,  and  behind 
it  hung  the  fishing-tackle.  Above  one  door 
was  a  gun-rack,  on  which  lay  the  rifle  and 
shotgun,  and  over  the  other  door  was  a  pair 
108 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

of  deer-antlers.  In  the  center  of  the  room 
stood  the  square  home-made  table,  every 
inch  scrubbed.  In  the  side  room,  which  is 
the  bedroom ,  was  a  wide  bunk  made  of  pine 
plank  that  had  also  been  scrubbed,  then 
filled  with  fresh,  sweet  pine  boughs,  and  over 
them  was  spread  a  piece  of  canvas  that  had 
once  been  a  wagon  sheet,  but  Gavotte  had 
washed  it  and  boiled  and  pounded  it  until  it 
was  clean  and  sweet.  That  served  for  a  sheet. 

Zebbie  was  beside  himself  with  joy.  The 
hounds  sprang  upon  him  and  expressed  their 
joy  unmistakably.  He  went  at  once  to  the 
corrals  to  see  the  "critters,"  and  every  one  of 
them  was  safely  penned  for  the  night.  "Old 
Sime,"  an  old  ram  (goodness  knows  how  old !) , 
promptly  butted  him  over,  but  he  just 
beamed  with  pleasure.  "Sime  knows  me, 
dinged  if  he  don't!"  was  his  happy  exclama- 
tion. We  went  into  the  cabin  and  left  him 
fondling  the  "critters." 

Gavotte  did  himself  proud  getting  supper. 
We  had  trout  and  the  most  delicious  biscuit. 
1 09 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Each  of  us  had  a  crisp,  tender  head  of  lettuce 
with  a  spoonful  of  potato  salad  in  the  center. 
We  had  preserves  made  from  canned  peaches, 
and  the  firmest  yellow  butter.  Soon  it  was 
quite  dark  and  we  had  a  tiny  brass  lamp 
which  gave  but  a  feeble  light,  but  it  was  quite 
cool  so  we  had  a  blazing  fire  which  made  it 
light  enough. 

When  supper  was  over,  Zebbie  called  us 
out  and  asked  us  if  we  could  hear  anything. 
We  could  hear  the  most  peculiar,  long-drawn, 
sighing  wail  that  steadily  grew  louder  and 
nearer.  I  was  really  frightened,  but  he  said 
it  was  the  forerunner  of  the  windstorm  that 
would  soon  strike  us.  He  said  it  was  wind 
coming  down  Crag  Canon,  and  in  just  a  few 
minutes  it  struck  us  like  a  cold  wave  and 
rushed,  sighing,  on  down  the  canon.  We 
could  hear  it  after  it  had  passed  us,  and  it 
was  perfectly  still  around  the  cabin.  Soon 
we  heard  the  deep  roaring  of  the  coming 
storm,  and  Zebbie  called  the  hounds  in  and 
secured  the  door.  The  sparks  began  to  fly 
no 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

up  the  chimney.  Jerrine  lay  on  a  bearskin 
before  the  fire,  and  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  and 
I  sat  on  the  old  blue  " settle"  at  one  side. 
Gavotte  lay  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire  on 
the  floor,  his  hands  under  his  head.  Zebbie 
got  out  his  beloved  old  fiddle,  tuned  up,  and 
began  playing.  Outside  the  storm  was  raging, 
growing  worse  all  the  time.  Zebbie  played 
and  played.  The  worse  the  tumult,  the 
harder  the  storm,  the  harder  he  played.  I 
remember  I  was  holding  my  breath,  expect- 
ing the  house  to  be  blown  away  every  mo- 
ment, and  Zebbie  was  playing  what  he  called 
"Bonaparte's  Retreat."  It  all  seemed  to 
flash  before  me  —  I  could  see  those  poor, 
suffering  soldiers  staggering  along  in  the 
snow,  sacrifices  to  one  man's  unholy  ambi- 
tion. I  verily  believe  we  were  all  bewitched. 
I  should  n't  have  been  surprised  to  have 
seen  witches  and  gnomes  come  tumbling 
down  the  chimney  or  flying  in  at  the  door, 
riding  on  the  crest  of  the  storm.  I  glanced  at 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy.  She  sat  with  her  chin 
in 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

in  her  hand,  gazing  with  unseeing  eyes  into 
the  fire.  Zebbie  seemed  possessed;  he  could 
n't  tire. 

It  seemed  like  hours  had  passed  and  the 
tumult  had  not  diminished.  I  felt  like  shriek- 
ing, but  I  gathered  Jerrine  up  into  my  arms 
and  carried  her  in  to  bed.  Mrs.  O'Shaugh- 
nessy  came  with  us.  She  touched  my  elbow 
and  said,  "  Child,  don't  look  toward  the  win- 
dow, the  banshees  are  out  to-night."  We 
knelt  together  beside  the  bed  and  said  our 
beads;  then,  without  undressing  save  pulling 
off  our  shoes,  we  crawled  under  our  blankets 
and  lay  on  the  sweet,  clean  pine.  We  were 
both  perfectly  worn  out,  but  we  could  not 
sleep.  There  seemed  to  be  hundreds  of  dif- 
ferent noises  of  the  storm,  for  there  are  so 
many  canons,  so  many  crooks  and  turns, 
and  the  great  forest  too.  The  wind  was 
shrieking,  howling,  and  roaring  all  at  once. 
A  deep  boom  announced  the  fall  of  some 
giant  of  the  forest.  I  finally  dozed  off  even 
in  that  terrible  din,  but  Zebbie  was  not  so 
112 


ZEBULON    PIKE 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

frenzied  as  he  had  been.  He  was  playing 
"Annie  Laurie,"  and  that  song  has  always 
been  a  favorite  of  mine.  The  storm  began 
gradually  to  die  away  and  "Annie  Laurie" 
sounded  so  beautiful.  I  was  thinking  of 
Pauline  and,  I  know,  to  Zebbie,  Annie  Laurie 
and  Pauline  Gorley  are  one  and  the  same. 

I  knew  no  more  until  I  heard  Zebbie  call 
out,  "Ho,  you  sleepy-heads,  it's  day."  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  turned  over  and  said  she  was 
still  sleepy.  My  former  visit  had  taught  me 
what  beauty  the  early  morning  would  spread 
before  me,  so  I  dressed  hastily  and  went  out- 
doors. Zebbie  called  me  to  go  for  a  little 
walk.  The  amber  light  of  the  new  day  was 
chasing  the  violet  and  amethyst  shadows 
down  the  canons.  It  was  all  more  beautiful 
than  I  can  tell  you.  On  one  side  the  canon- 
walls  were  almost  straight  up.  It  looked  as 
if  we  might  step  off  into  a  very  world  of 
mountains.  Soon  Old  Baldy  wore  a  crown  of 
gleaming  gold.  The  sun  was  up.  We  walked 
on  and  soon  came  to  a  brook.  We  were  wash- 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

ing  our  faces  in  its  icy  waters  when  we  heard 
twigs  breaking,  so  we  stood  perfectly  still. 
From  out  the  undergrowth  of  birch  and  wil- 
lows came  a  deer  with  two  fawns.  They 
stopped  to  drink,  and  nibbled  the  bushes. 
But  soon  they  scented  strangers,  and,  look- 
ing about  with  their  beautiful,  startled  eyes, 
they  saw  us  and  away  they  went  like  the 
wind.  We  saw  many  great  trees  uptorn  by 
the  storm.  High  up  on  the  cliffs  Zebbie 
showed  me  where  the  eagles  built  every 
year.  .  .  .  We  turned  homeward  and  sat 
down  upon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  pine  to  rest 
and  take  another  look  at  the  magnificent 
view.  Zebbie  was  silent,  but  presently  he 
threw  a  handful  of  pebbles  down  the  canon 
wall.  "I  am  not  sorry  Pauline  is  dead.  I 
have  never  shed  a  tear.  I  know  you  think 
that  is  odd,  but  I  have  never  wanted  to 
mourn.  I  am  glad  that  it  is  as  it  is.  I  am 
happy  and  at  peace  because  I  know  she  is 
mine.  The  little  breeze  is  Pauline's  own 
voice;  she  had  a  little  caressing  way  just  like 
114 


ZEBBIE'S  STORY 

the  gentlest  breeze  when  it  stirs  your  hair. 
There  is  something  in  everything  that  brings 
back  Pauline:  the  beauty  of  the  morning, 
the  song  of  a  bird  or  the  flash  of  its  wings. 
The  flowers  look  like  she  did.  So  I  have  not 
lost  her,  she  is  mine  more  than  ever.  I  have 
always  felt  so,  but  was  never  quite  sure  until 
I  went  back  and  saw  where  they  laid  her. 
I  know  people  think  I  am  crazy,  but  I  don't 
care  for  that.  I  shall  not  hate  to  die.  When 
you  get  to  be  as  old  as  I  am,  child,  every- 
thing will  have  a  new  meaning  to  you." 

At  last  we  slowly  walked  back  to  the  cabin, 
and  at  breakfast  Zebbie  told  of  the  damage 
the  storm  had  done.  He  was  so  common- 
place that  no  one  ever  would  have  guessed 
his  strange  fancy.  .  .  . 

I  shall  never  forget  Zebbie  as  I  last  saw 
him.  It  was  the  morning  we  started  home. 
After  we  left  the  bench  that  Zebbie  lives  on, 
our  road  wound  down  into  a  deeper  canon. 
Zebbie  had  followed  us  to  where  a  turn  in  the 
canon  should  hide  us  from  view.  I  looked 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

back  and  saw  him  standing  on  the  cliffs, 
high  above  us,  the  early  morning  sun  turn- 
ing his  snowy  hair  to  gold,  the  breeze-fingers 
of  Pauline  tossing  the  scanty  locks.  I  shall 
always  remember  him  so,  a  living  monument 
to  a  dead  past. 

ELINORE  STEWART. 


XII 

A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

October  6,  1911. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,— 

.  .  .  I  once  "beared"  Sedalia  Lane  telling 
some  of  her  experiences,  and  she  said  she  "sur- 
reptitiously stole  along."  One  day,  when  I 
thought  the  coast  was  clear,  I  was  surrepti- 
tiously examining  the  contents  of  the  tool- 
chest  with  a  view  toward  securing  to  myself 
such  hammers,  saws,  and  what  else  I  might 
need  in  doing  some  carpentry  work  I  had 
planned.  The  tool-chest  is  kept  in  the  gran- 
ary ;  both  it  and  the  granary  are  usually  kept 
locked.  Now  the  "gude  mon"  has  an  idea 
that  a  "  wooman"  needs  no  tools,  and  the  use 
and  misuse  of  his  tools  have  led  to  numbers 
of  inter-household  wars.  I  was  gloating  over 
my  opportunity,  and  also  making  the  best 
of  it,  when  a  medley  of  burring  Scotch  voices 
117 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

brought  me  to  a  quick  realization  that  dis- 
cretion is  the  better  part  of  valor.  So  I  went 
into  seclusion  behind  a  tall  oat-bin.  It 
seemed  that  two  neighbors  whom  I  had  never 
seen  were  preparing  to  go  to  town,  and  had 
come  to  get  some  tools  and  to  see  if  the 
Stewart  would  lend  them  each  a  team.  Now 
Mr.  Stewart  must  be  very  righteous,  because 
he  certainly  regardeth  his  beast,  although 
he  does  n't  always  love  his  neighbor  as  him- 
self. He  was  willing,  however,  for  friends 
Tarn  Campbell  and  Archie  McEttrick  to  use 
his  teams,  but  he  himself  would  take  a  lighter 
rig  and  go  along,  so  as  to  see  that  his  horses 
were  properly  cared  for,  and  to  help  out  in 
case  of  need. 

They  made  their  plans,  set  the  day,  and 
went  their  ways.  As  soon  as  I  could,  I  made 
myself  scarce  about  the  granary  and  very 
busy  about  the  house,  and,  like  Josiah  Allen> 
I  was  in  a  very  "happyfied"  state  of  mind. 
There  is  nothing  Mr.  Stewart  likes  better 
than  to  catch  me  unprepared  for  something. 
118 


A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

I  had  been  wanting  to  go  to  town,  and  he  had 
said  I  might  go  with  him  next  time  he  went, 
if  I  was  ready  when  he  was.  I  knew  I  would 
not  hear  one  word  about  the  proposed  trip, 
but  that  only  added  to  the  fun.  I  had  plenty 
of  time  to  make  all  preparations;  so  the  day 
before  they  were  to  start  found  me  with  all 
in  readiness.  It  was  quite  early  in  the  spring 
and  the  evenings  were  quite  chilly.  We  had 
just  finished  supper,  when  we  heard  a  great 
rumbling,  and  I  knew  neighbors  Campbell 
and  McEttrick  had  arrived  on  their  way  to 
town;  so  I  began  to  prepare  supper  for  them. 
I  had  n't  expected  a  woman,  and  was  sur- 
prised when  I  saw  the  largest,  most  ungainly 
person  I  have  ever  met  come  shambling 
toward  me. 

She  was  Aggie  McEttrick.  She  is  tall  and 
raw-boned,  she  walks  with  her  toes  turned 
out,  she  has  a  most  peculiar  lurching  gait 
like  a  camel's.  She  has  skin  the  color  of  a 
new  saddle,  and  the  oddest  straggly  straw- 
colored  hair.  She  never  wears  corsets  and 
119 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

never  makes  her  waists  long  enough,  so  there 
is  always  a  streak  of  gray  undershirt  visible 
about  her  waist.  Her  skirts  are  never  long 
enough  either,  and  she  knits  her  own  stock- 
ings. Those  inclined  can  always  get  a  good 
glimpse  of  blue-and-white  striped  hose.  She 
said,  "I  guess  you  are  the  Missus."  And 
that  was  every  word  she  said  until  I  had 
supper  on  the  table.  The  men  were  busy 
with  their  teams,  and  she  sat  with  her  feet 
in  my  oven,  eyeing  my  every  movement.  I 
told  her  we  had  just  had  our  supper,  but  she 
waited  until  I  had  theirs  ready  before  she 
announced  that  neither  she  nor  Archie  ate  hot 
biscuits  or  steak,  that  they  did  n't  take  tea 
for  supper,  preferred  coffee,  and  that  neither 
of  them  could  eat  peaches  or  honey.  So  all  of 
my  supper  was  ruled  off  except  the  butter 
and  cream.  She  went  down  to  their  wagons 
and  brought  up  what  she  wanted,  so  Tarn 
Campbell  was  the  only  one  who  ate  my 
honey  and  biscuit. 

Tarn  is  just  a  Scot  with  an  amazingly  close 
120 


A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

S 
fist,  and  he  is  very  absent-minded.    I  had 

met  Annie,  his  wife,  and  their  six  children. 
She  told  me  of  his  absent-mindedness.  Her 
remedy  for  his  trouble  when  it  came  to  house- 
hold needs  was  to  repeat  the  article  two  or 
three  times  in  the  list.  People  out  like  we 
are  buy  a  year's  supply  at  a  time.  So  a  list 
of  needed  things  is  made  up  and  sent  into 
town.  Tarn  always  managed  to  forget  a 
great  many  things. 

Well,  bedtime  came.  I  offered  to  show  them 
to  their  room,  but  Aggie  said,  "We'll  nae 
sleep  in  your  bed.  We'll  jest  bide  in  the 
kitchen."  I  could  not  persuade  her  to  change 
her  mind.  Tarn  slept  at  the  barn  in  order 
to  see  after  the  "beasties,"  should  they  need 
attention  during  the  night.  As  I  was  pre- 
•  paring  for  bed,  Aggie  thrust  her  head  into 
my  room  and  announced  that  she  would  be 
up  at  three  o'clock.  I  am  not  an  early  bird, 
so  I  thought  I  would  let  Aggie  get  her  own 
breakfast,  and  I  told  her  she  would  find  ' 
everything  in  the  pantry.  As  long  as  I  was 
121 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

awake  I  could  hear  Archie  and  Aggie  talk- 
ing, but  I  could  not  imagine  what  about.  I 
did  n't  know  their  habits  so  well  as  I  came 
to  later.  Next  morning  the  rumbling  of  their 
wagons  awakened  me,  but  I  turned  over  and 
slept  until  after  six. 

There  are  always  so  many  things  to  do  be- 
fore leaving  that  it  was  nine  o'clock  before 
we  got  started.  We  had  only  gotten  about 
two  miles,  when  Mr.  Stewart  remembered 
he  had  not  locked  the  granary,  so  back  we 
trotted.  We  nooned  only  a  few  miles  from 
home.  We  knew  we  could  not  catch  the 
wagons  before  camping-time  unless  we  drove 
very  hard,  so  Mr.  Stewart  said  we  would 
go  by  the  Edmonsons'  and  spend  the  night 
there.  I  enjoy  even  the  memory  of  that  drive 
through  the  short  spring  afternoon,  —  the 
warm  red  sand  of  the  desert ;  the  Wind  River 
Mountains  wrapped  in  the  blue  veil  of  dis- 
tance; the  sparse  gray-green  sage,  ugly  in 
itself,  but  making  complete  a  beautiful  pic- 
ture; the  occasional  glimpse  we  had  of  shy, 
122 


A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

beautiful  wild  creatures.  So  much  happiness 
can  be  crowded  into  so  short  a  time.  I  was 
glad,  though,  when  Cora  Belle's  home  became 
a  part  of  our  beautiful  picture.  It  is  situ- 
ated among  great  red  buttes,  and  there  is  a 
blue  lake  back  of  the  house.  Around  the 
lake  is  a  fringe  of  willows.  Their  house  is 
a  low,  rambling  affair,  with  a  long,  low  porch 
and  a  red  clay  roof.  Before  the  house  is  a 
cotton-wood  tree,  its  gnarled,  storm-twisted 
branches  making  it  seem  to  have  the  "rheu- 
matiz."  There  is  a  hop- vine  at  one  end  of  the 
porch.  It  had  not  come  out  when  we  were 
there,  but  the  dead  vine  clung  hopelessly  to 
its  supports. 

Little  Cora  Belle  just  bubbled  with  delight, 
and  her  grandparents  were  scarcely  better 
than  she.  Spring  house-cleaning  was  just 
finished,  and  they  have  company  so  seldom 
that  they  made  us  feel  that  we  were  doing 
them  a  favor  by  stopping.  Poor  old  "Pa" 
hobbled  out  to  help  put  the  team  away,  and 
when  they  came  back,  Cora  Belle  asked  me 
123 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

out  to  help  prepare  supper,  so  I  left  Mr. 
Stewart  with  " Granny"  and  "Pa"  to  listen 
to  their  recitals  and  to  taste  their  many 
medicines.  Cora  Belle  is  really  an  excellent 
housekeeper.  Her  cooking  would  surprise 
many  people.  Her  bread  was  delicious,  and  I 
am  sure  I  never  tasted  anything  better  than 
the  roasted  leg  of  lamb  she  gave  us  for  supper. 
I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  much  I  ate  of 
her  carrot  jam.  From  where  I  sat  I  had  a 
splendid  view  of  the  sunset  across  the  lake. 
Speaking  of  things  singly,  Wyoming  has 
nothing  beautiful  to  offer.  Taken  altogether, 
it  is  grandly  beautiful,  and  at  sunrise  and 
sunset  the  "heavens  declare  His  glory." 

Cora  Belle  is  so  animated  and  so  straight- 
forward, so  entirely  clean  in  all  her  thoughts 
and  actions,  that  she  commands  love  and 
respect  at  one  and  the  same  time.  After  sup- 
per her  grandfather  asked  her  to  sing  and 
play  for  us.  Goodness  only  knows  where 
they  got  the  funny  little  old  organ  that  Cora 
Belle  thinks  so  much  of.  It  has  spots  all  over 
124 


A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

it  of  medicine  that  has  been  spilled  at  differ- 
ent times,  and  it  has,  as  Cora  Belle  said,  lost 
its  voice  in  spots;  but  that  does  n't  set  back 
Cora  Belle  at  all,  she  plays  away  just  as  if 
it  was  all  right.  Some  of  the  keys  keep  up 
a  mournful  whining  and  groaning,  entirely 
outside  of  the  tune.  Cora  Belle  says  they 
play  themselves.  After  several  "pieces"  had 
been  endured,  "Pa"  said,  "Play  my  piece, 
Cory  Belle";  so  we  had  "Bingen  on  the 
Rhine"  played  and  sung  from  A  to  izzard. 
Dear  old  "Pa,"  his  pain-twisted  old  face 
just  beamed  with  pride.  I  doubt  if  heaven 
will  have  for  him  any  sweeter  music  than  his 
"baby's"  voice.  Granny's  squeaky,  trembly 
old  voice  trailed  in  after  Cora  Belle's,  always 
a  word  or  two  behind.  "Tell  my  friends  and 
companions  when  they  meet  and  scrouge 
around  " ;  that  is  the  way  they  sang  it,  but  no 
one  would  have  cared  for  that,  if  they  had 
noticed  with  what  happy  eagerness  the  two 
sang  together.  The  grandparents  would  like 
to  have  sat  up  all  night  singing  and  telling  of 
125 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

things  that  happened  in  bygone  days,  but 
poor  tired  little  Cora  Belle  began  to  nod,  so 
we  retired.  As  we  were  preparing  for  bed  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  Mr.  Stewart  that  I  had 
not  been  surprised  when  going  to  town  was 
mentioned,  so  he  said,  "  Wooman,  how  did  it 
happen  that  you  were  ready  when  I  was  to 
gae  to  the  toone? "  "Oh,"  I  said, "  I  knew  you 
were  going."  "Who  tell  it  ye?"  "A  little 
bird."  '  'T  was  some  fool  wooman,  mayhap." 
I  did  n't  feel  it  necessary  to  enlighten  him, 
and  I  think  he  is  still  wondering  how  I  knew. 
Next  morning  we  were  off  early,  but  we 
did  n't  come  up  with  the  wagons  until  almost 
camping- time.  The  great  heavily-loaded 
wagons  were  creaking  along  over  the  heavy 
sands.  The  McEttricks  were  behind,  Aggie's 
big  frame  swaying  and  lurching  with  every 
jolt  of  the  wagon.  They  never  travel  without 
their  German  socks.  They  are  great  thick 
things  to  wear  on  the  outside  of  their  shoes. 
As  we  came  up  behind  them,  we  could  see 
Aggie's  big  socks  dangling  and  bobbing 
126 


A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

beside  Archie's  from  where  they  were  tied  on 
the  back  part  of  the  wagon.  We  could  hear 
them  talking  and  see  them  gesticulating. 
When  we  came  nearer,  we  found  they  were 
quarreling,  and  they  kept  at  it  as  long  as  I 
was  awake  that  night.  After  the  men  had 
disposed  of  their  loads,  they  and  Mr.  Stewart 
were  going  out  of  town  to  where  a  new  coal- 
mine was  being  opened.  I  intended  to  go  on 
the  train  to  Rock  Springs  to  do  some  shop- 
ping. Aggie  said  she  was  going  also.  I  sug- 
gested that  we  get  a  room  together,  as  we 
would  have  to  wait  several  hours  for  the 
train,  but  she  was  suspicious  of  my  motives. 
She  is  greatly  afraid  of  being  "done,"  so  she 
told  me  to  get  my  own  room  and  pay  for  it. 
We  got  into  town  about  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  the  train  left  at  midnight. 

I  had  gone  to  my  room,  and  Jerrine  and 
myself  were  enjoying  a  good  rest  after  our 
fatiguing  drive,  when  my  door  was  thrown 
open  and  a  very  angry  Aggie  strode  in.  They 
asked  us  fifty  cents  each  for  our  rooms.  Aggie 
127 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

paid  hers  under  protest  and  afterward  got  to 
wondering  how  long  she  was  entitled  to  its 
use.  She  had  gone  back  to  the  clerk  about  it, 
and  he  had  told  her  for  that  night  only.  She 
argued  that  she  should  have  her  room  for  a 
quarter,  as  she  would  only  use  it  until  mid- 
night. When  that  failed,  she  asked  for  her 
money  back,  but  the  clerk  was  out  of  patience 
and  refused  her  that.  Aggie  was  angry  all 
through.  She  vowed  she  was  being  robbed. 
After  she  had  berated  me  soundly  for  submit- 
ting so  tamely,  she  flounced  back  to  her  own 
room,  declaring  she  would  get  even  with  the 
robbers.  I  had  to  hurry  like  everything  that 
night  to  get  myself  and  Jerrine  ready  for  the 
train,  so  I  could  spare  no  time  for  Aggie.  She 
was  not  at  the  depot,  and  Jerrine  and  I  had 
to  go  on  to  Rock  Springs  without  her.  It  is 
only  a  couple  of  hours  from  Green  River  to 
Rock  Springs,  so  I  had  a  good  nap  and  a  late 
breakfast.  I  did  my  shopping  and  was  back 
at  Green  River  at  two  that  afternoon.  The 
first  person  I  saw  was  Aggie.  She  sat  in  the 
128 


A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

depot,  glowering  at  everybody.  She  had  a 
basket  of  eggs  and  a  pail  of  butter,  which  she 
had  been  trying  to  sell.  She  was  waiting  for 
the  night  train,  the  only  one  she  could  get  to 
Rock  Springs.  I  asked  her  had  she  overslept. 
"No,  I  didna,"  she  replied.  Then,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  tell  me  that,  as  she  had  paid  for  a 
whole  night's  use  of  a  room,  she  had  stayed 
to  get  its  use.  That  it  had  made  her  plans 
miscarry  did  n't  seem  to  count. 

After  all  our  business  was  attended  to,  we 
started  for  home.  The  wagons  were  half  a 
day  ahead  of  us.  When  we  came  in  sight, 
we  could  see  Aggie  fanning  the  air  with  her 
long  arms,  and  we  knew  they  were  quarrel- 
ing. I  remarked  that  I  could  not  understand 
how  persons  who  hated  each  other  so  could 
live  together.  Clyde  told  me  I  had  much 
to  learn,  and  said  that  really  he  knew  of  no 
other  couple  who  were  actually  so  devoted. 
He  said  to  prove  it  I  should  ask  Aggie  into 
the  buggy  with  me  and  he  would  get  in  with 
Archie,  and  afterwards  we  would  compare 
129 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

notes.  He  drove  up  alongside  of  them,  and 
Aggie  seemed  glad  to  make  the  exchange. 
As  we  had  the  buggy,  we  drove  ahead  of  the 
wagons.  It  seems  that  Archie  and  Aggie  are 
each  jealous  of  the  other.  Archie  is  as  ugly 
a  little  monkey  as  it  would  be  possible  to 
imagine.  She  bemeaned  him  until  at  last  I 
asked  her  why  she  did  n't  leave  him,  and 
added  that  I  would  not  stand  such  cranki- 
ness for  one  moment.  Then  she  poured  out 
the  vials  of  her  wrath  upon  my  head,  only  I 
don't  think  they  were  vials  but  barrels. 

About  sundown  we  made  it  to  where  we 
intended  to  camp  and  found  that  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  had  established  a  sheep-camp 
there,  and  was  out  with  her  herd  herself, 
having  only  Manny,  a  Mexican  boy  she  had 
brought  up  herself,  for  a  herder.  She  wel- 
comed us  cordially  and  began  supper  for  our 
entire  bunch.  Soon  the  wagons  came,  and  all 
was  confusion  for  a  few  minutes  getting  the 
horses  put  away  for  the  night.  Aggie  went 
to  her  wagon  as  soon  as  it  stopped  and  made 
130 


A  CONTENTED  COUPLE 

secure  her  butter  and  eggs  against  a  possible 
raid  by  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy.  Having  asked 
too  high  a  price  for  them,  she  had  failed  to 
sell  them  and  was  taking  them  back.  After 
supper  we  were  sitting  around  the  fire,  Tarn 
going  over  his  account  and  lamenting  that 
because  of  his  absent-mindedness  he  had 
bought  a  whole  hundred  pounds  of  sugar 
more  than  he  had  intended,  Aggie  and 
Archie  silent  for  once,  pouting  I  suspect. 
Clyde  smiled  across  the  camp-fire  at  me  and 
said,  /'Gin  ye  had  sic  a  lass  as  I  hae,  ye  might 
blither."  "Gin  ye  had  sic  a  mon  as  mine  - 
I  began,  but  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  said,  "Gin 
ye  had  sic  a  mon  as  I  hae."  Then  we  all 
three  laughed,  for  we  had  each  heard  the 
same  thing,  and  we  knew  the  McEttricks 
would  n't  fight  each  other.  They  suspected 
us  of  laughing  at  them,  for  Archie  said  to 
Aggie,  "Aggie,  lass,  is  it  sport  they  are  mak- 
ing of  our  love?"  "  'T  is  daft  they  be,  Archie, 
lad;  we'll  nae  mind  their  blither."  She  arose 
and  shambled  across  to  Archie  and  hunkered 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

her  big  self  down  beside  him.   We  went  to 
bed  and  left  them  peaceable  for  once. 

I  am  really  ashamed  of  the  way  I  have 
treated  you,  but  I  know  you  will  forgive  me. 
I  am  not  strong  yet,  and  my  eyes  are  still 
bothering  me,  but  I  hope  to  be  all  right  soon 
now,  and  I  promise  you  a  better  letter  next 
time.  Jerrine  is  very  proud  of  her  necklace. 
I  think  they  are  so  nice  for  children.  I  can 
remember  how  proud  I  was  of  mine  when  I 
was  a  child.  Please  give  your  brother  our 
thanks,  and  tell  him  his  little  gift  made  my 
little  girl  very  happy. 

I  am  afraid  this  letter  will  seem  rather 
jumbled.  I  still  want  the  address  of  your 
friend  in  Salem  or  any  other.  I  shall  find 
time  to  write,  and  I  am  not  going  to  let  my 
baby  prevent  me  from  having  many  enjoy- 
able outings.  We  call  our  boy  Henry  Clyde 
for  his  father.  He  is  a  dear  little  thing,  but 
he  is  a  lusty  yeller  for  baby's  rights. 
With  much  love, 

JERRINE  AND  HER  MAMMA. 


XIII 

PROVING  UP 

October  14,  1911. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,— 

I  think  you  must  be  expecting  an  answer 
to  your  letter  by  now,  so  I  will  try  to  answer 
as  many  of  your  questions  as  I  remember. 
Your  letter  has  been  mislaid.  We  have  been 
very  much  rushed  all  this  week.  We  had  the 
thresher  crew  two  days.  I  was  busy  cooking 
for  them  two  days  before  they  came,  and 
have  been  busy  ever  since  cleaning  up  after 
them.  Clyde  has  taken  the  thresher  on  up 
the  valley  to  thresh  for  the  neighbors,  and 
all  the  men  have  gone  along,  so  the  children 
and  I  are  alone.  No,  I  shall  not  lose  my  land, 
although  it  will  be  over  two  years  before  I 
can  get  a  deed  to  it.  The  five  years  in  which 
I  am  required  to  "prove  up "  will  have  passed 
by  then.  I  could  n't  have  held  my  homestead 
133 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

if  Clyde  had  also  been  proving  up,  but  he 
had  accomplished  that  years  ago  and  has  his 
deed,  so  I  am  allowed  my  homestead.  Also 
I  have  not  yet  used  my  desert  right,  so  I  am 
still  entitled  to  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres 
more.  I  shall  file  on  that  much  some  day 
when  I  have  sufficient  money  of  my  own 
earning.  The  law  requires  a  cash  payment  of 
twenty- five  cents  per  acre  at  the  filing,  and 
one  dollar  more  per  acre  when  final  proof  is 
made.  I  should  not  have  married  if  Clyde 
had  not  promised  I  should  meet  all  my  land 
difficulties  unaided.  I  wanted  the  fun  and 
the  experience.  For  that  reason  I  want  to 
earn  every  cent  that  goes  into  my  own  land 
and  improvements  myself.  Sometimes  I  al- 
most have  a  brain-storm  wondering  how  I 
am  going  to  do  it,  but  I  know  I  shall  succeed ; 
other  women  have  succeeded.  I  know  of 
several  who  are  now  where  they  can  laugh 
at  past  trials.  Do  you  know?  —  I  am  a  firm 
believer  in  laughter.  I  am  real  superstitious 
about  it.  I  think  if  Bad  Luck  came  along,  he 
134 


PROVING  UP 

would  take  to  his  heels  if  some  one  laughed 
right  loudly. 

I  think  Jerrine  must  be  born  for  the  law. 
She  always  threshes  out  questions  that 
arise,  to  her  own  satisfaction,  if  to  no  one 
else's.  She  prayed  for  a  long  time  for  her 
brother;  also  she  prayed  for  some  puppies. 
The  puppies  came,  but  we  did  n't  let  her 
know  they  were  here  until  they  were  able  to 
walk.  One  morning  she  saw  them  following 
their  mother,  so  she  danced  for  joy.  When 
her  little  brother  came  she  was  plainly  dis- 
appointed. "Mamma,"  she  said,  "did  God 
really  make  the  baby  ?  "  "Yes,  dear."  "Then 
He  has  n't  treated  us  fairly,  and  I  should 
like  to  know  why.  The  puppies  could  walk 
when  He  finished  them;  the  calves  can,  too. 
The  pigs  can,  and  the  colt,  and  even  the 
chickens.  What  is  the  use  of  giving  us  a  half- 
finished  baby?  He  has  no  hair,  and  no  teeth; 
he  can't  walk  or  talk,  nor  do  anything  else 
but  squall  and  sleep." 

After  many  days  she  got  the  question 
135 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

settled.  She  began  right  where  she  left  off. 
"I  know,  Mamma,  why  God  gave  us  such 
a  half-finished  baby;  so  he  could  learn  our 
ways,  and  no  one  else's,  since  he  must  live 
with  us,  and  so  we  could  learn  to  love  him. 
Every  time  I  stand  beside  his  buggy  he 
laughs  and  then  I  love  him,  but  I  don't  love 
Stella  nor  Marvin  because  they  laugh.  So 
that  is  why."  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason. 

Zebbie's  kinsfolk  have  come  and  taken 
him  back  to  Yell  County.  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  he  never  returned.  The  Lanes 
and  the  Pattersons  leave  shortly  for  Idaho, 
where  "our  Bobbie"  has  made  some  large 
investments. 

I  hope  to  hear  from  you  soon  and  that  you 
are  enjoying  every  minute.  With  much  love, 
Your  friend, 

ELINORE  STEWART. 


XIV 

THE  NEW   HOUSE 

December  i,  1911. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

I  feel  just  like  visiting  to-night,  so  I  am 
going  to  "play  like "  you  have  come.  It  is  so 
good  to  have  you  to  chat  with.  Please  be 
seated  in  this  low  rocker;  it  is  a  present  to 
me  from  the  Pattersons  and  I  am  very  proud 
of  it.  I  am  just  back  from  the  Patterson 
ranch,  and  they  have  a  dear  little  boy  who 
came  the  2Oth  of  November  and  they  call 
him  Robert  Lane. 

I  am  sure  this  room  must  look  familiar  to 
you,  for  there  is  so  much  in  it  that  was  once 
yours.  I  have  two  rooms,  each  fifteen  by 
fifteen,  but  this  one  on  the  south  is  my 
"really"  room  and  in  it  are  my  treasures. 
My  house  faces  east  and  is  built  up  against 
a  side-hill,  or  should  I  say  hillside?  Anyway, 
137 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

they  had  to  excavate  quite  a  lot.  I  had  them 
dump  the  dirt  right  before  the  house  and 
terrace  it  smoothly.  I  have  sown  my  terrace 
to  California  poppies,  and  around  my  porch, 
which  is  six  feet  wide  and  thirty  long,  I  have 
planted  wild  cucumbers. 

Every  log  in  my  house  is  as  straight  as  a 
pine  can  grow.  Each  room  has  a  window  and 
a  door  on  the  east  side,  and  the  south  room 
has  two  windows  on  the  south  with  space 
between  for  my  heater,  which  is  one  of  those 
with  a  grate  front  so  I  can  see  the  fire  burn. 
It  is  almost  as  good  as  a  fireplace.  The  logs 
are  unhewed  outside  because  I  like  the  rough 
finish,  but  inside  the  walls  are  perfectly 
square  and  smooth.  The  cracks  in  the  walls 
are  snugly  filled  with  " daubing"  and  then 
the  walls  are  covered  with  heavy  gray 
building-paper,  which  makes  the  room  very 
warm,  and  I  really  like  the  appearance.  I 
had  two  rolls  of  wall-paper  with  a  bold  rose 
pattern.  By  being  very  careful  I  was  able  to 
cut  out  enough  of  the  roses,  which  are  divided 

138 


' 


THE    STEWART   CABIN 


THE  NEW  HOUSE 

in  their  choice  of  color  as  to  whether  they 
should  be  red,  yellow,  or  pink,  to  make  a  bor- 
der about  eighteen  inches  from  the  ceiling. 
They  brighten  up  the  wall  and  the  gray  paper 
is  fine  to  hang  pictures  upon.  Those  you 
have  sent  us  make  our  room  very  attractive. 
The  woodwork  is  stained  a  walnut  brown, 
oil  finish,  and  the  floor  is  stained  and  oiled 
just  like  it.  In  the  corners  by  the  stove  and 
before  the  windows  we  take  our  comfort. 

From  some  broken  bamboo  fishing-rods  I 
made  frames  for  two  screens.  These  I  painted 
black  with  some  paint  that  was  left  from  the 
buggy,  and  Gavotte  fixed  the  screens  so  they 
will  stay  balanced,  and  put  in  casters  forme. 
I  had  a  piece  of  blue  curtain  calico  and  with 
brass-headed  tacks  I  put  it  on  the  frame  of 
Jerrine's  screen,  then  I  mixed  some  paste 
and  let  her  decorate  it  to  suit  herself  on 
the  side  that  should  be  next  her  corner.  She 
used  the  cards  you  sent  her.  Some  of  the 
people  have  a  suspiciously  tottering  appear- 
ance, perhaps  not  so  very  artistic,  but  they 
139 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

all  mean  something  to  a  little  girl  whose 
small  fingers  worked  patiently  to  attain  sat- 
isfactory results.  She  has  a  set  of  shelves  on 
which  her  treasures  of  china  are  arranged. 
On  the  floor  is  a  rug  made  of  two  goatskins 
dyed  black,  a  present  from  Gavotte,  who 
heard  her  admiring  Zebbie's  bearskin.  She 
has  a  tiny  red  rocking-chair  which  she  has 
outgrown,  but  her  rather  dilapidated  family 
of  dolls  use  it  for  an  automobile.  For  a  seat 
for  herself  she  has  a  small  hassock  that  you 
gave  me,  and  behind  the  blue  screen  is  a 
world  apart. 

My  screen  is  made  just  like  Jerrine's  ex- 
cept that  the  cover  is  cream  material  with 
sprays  of  wild  roses  over  it.  In  my  corner  I 
have  a  cot  made  up  like  a  couch.  One  of  my 
pillows  is  covered  with  some  checked  ging- 
ham that  "Dawsie"  cross-stitched  for  me. 
I  have  a  cabinet  bookcase  made  from  an  old 
walnut  bedstead  that  was  a  relic  of  the  Moun- 
tain Meadow  Massacre.  Gavotte  made  it  for 
me.  In  it  I  have  my  few  books,  some  odds 
140 


THE  NEW  HOUSE 

and  ends  of  china,  all  gifts,  and  a  few  fossil 
curios.  For  a  floor-covering  I  have  a  braided 
rug  of  blue  and  white,  made  from  old  sheets 
and  Jerrine's  old  dresses.  In  the  center  of 
my  room  is  a  square  table  made  of  pine  and 
stained  brown.  Over  it  is  a  table-cover  that 
you  gave  me.  Against  the  wall  near  my  bed 
is  my  " dresser."  It  is  a  box  with  shelves 
and  is  covered  with  the  same  material  as  my 
screen.  Above  it  I  have  a  mirror,  but  it 
makes  ugly  faces  at  me  every  time  I  look 
into  it.  Upon  the  wall  near  by  is  a  match- 
holder  that  you  gave  me.  It  is  the  heads  of 
two  fisher-folk.  The  man  has  lost  his  nose, 
but  the  old  lady  still  thrusts  out  her  tongue. 
The  material  on  my  screen  and  " dresser"  I 
bought  for  curtains,  then  decided  to  use  some 
white  crossbar  I  had.  But  I  wish  I  had  not, 
for  every  time  I  look  at  them  I  think  of  poor 
little  Mary  Ann  Parker. 

I  am  going  to  make  you  a  cup  of  tea  and 
wonder  if  you  will  see  anything  familiar 
about  the  teapot.  You  should,  I  think,  for  it 
141 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

is  another  of  your  many  gifts  to  me.  Now 
I  feel  that  you  have  a  fairly  good  idea  of 
what  my  house  looks  like,  on  the  inside  any- 
way. The  magazines  and  Jerrine's  cards  and 
Mother  Goose  book  came  long  ago,  and  Jer- 
rine  and  I  were  both  made  happy.  I  wish 
I  could  do  nice  things  for  you,  but  all  I  can 
do  is  to  love  you. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT. 


XV 

THE  "STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER 

February,  1912. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY, — 

.  .  .  This  time  I  want  to  tell  you  about  a 
"stocking-leg"  dinner  which  I  attended  not 
long  ago.  It  does  n't  sound  very  respectable, 
but  it  was  one  of  the  happiest  events  I  ever 
remember. 

Mrs.  Louderer  was  here  visiting  us,  and 
one  afternoon  we  were  all  in  the  kitchen 
when  Gavotte  came  skimming  along  on  the 
first  pair  of  snowshoes  I  ever  saw.  We  have 
had  lots  of  snow  this  winter,  and  many  of  the 
hollows  and  gullies  are  packed  full.  Gavotte 
had  no  difficulty  in  coming,  and  he  had  come 
for  the  mail  and  to  invite  us  to  a  feast  of  "ze 
hose/'  I  could  not  think  what  kind  of  a 
dinner  it  could  be,  and  I  did  not  believe  that 
Mr.  Stewart  would  go,  but  after  Gavotte 
143 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

had  explained  how  much  easier  it  was  now 
than  at  any  other  time  because  the  hard- 
packed  snow  made  it  possible  to  go  with 
bobsleds,  I  knew  he  would  go.  I  can't  say  I 
really  wanted  to  go,  but  Mrs.  Louderer  took 
it  for  granted  that  it  would  be  delightful,  so 
she  and  Mr.  Stewart  did  the  planning.  Next 
morning  Gavotte  met  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
and  invited  her.  Then,  taking  the  mail,  he 
went  on  ahead  to  blaze  a  trail  we  should 
follow  with  the  sleds.  We  were  to  start  two 
days  later.  They  planned  we  could  easily 
make  the  trip  in  a  day,  as,  with  the  gulches 
filled  with  snow,  short  cuts  were  possible, 
and  we  could  travel  at  a  good  pace,  as  we 
would  have  a  strong  team.  To  me  it  seemed 
dangerous,  but  dinner-parties  have  not  been 
so  plenty  that  I  could  miss  one.  So,  when  the 
day  came  on  which  we  were  to  start,  we  were 
up  betimes  and  had  a  mess-box  packed  and 
Mr.  Stewart  had  a  big  pile  of  rocks  hot.  We 
all  wore  our  warmest  clothes,  and  the  rest 
carried  out  hot  rocks  and  blankets  while  I 
144 


THE  "STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER 

put  the  kitchen  in  such  order  that  the  men 
left  to  feed  the  stock  would  have  no  trouble 
in  getting  their  meals.  Mr.  Stewart  carried 
out  the  mess-box,  and  presently  we  were  off. 
We  had  a  wagon-box  on  bobsleds,  and  the 
box  was  filled  with  hay  and  hot  rocks  with 
blankets  on  top  and  more  to  cover  us.  Mr. 
Stewart  had  two  big  bags  of  grain  in  front, 
feed  for  the  horses,  and  he  sat  on  them. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  and  we  jogged  along 
merrily.  We  had  lots  of  fun,  and  as  we  went 
a  new  way,  there  was  much  that  was  new  to 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  and  myself,  and  it  was 
all  new  to  the  rest.  Gavotte  had  told  us 
where  we  should  noon,  and  we  reached  the 
place  shortly  after  twelve.  Mr.  Stewart 
went  to  lift  out  the  mess-box,  —  but  he  had 
forgotten  to  put  it  in!  Oh,  dear!  We  were 
a  disappointed  lot.  I  don't  think  I  was  ever 
so  hungry,  but  there  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  grin  and  bear  it.  It  did  me  some  good, 
though,  to  remember  how  a  man  misses  his 
dinner.  The  horses  had  to  be  fed,  so  we 
145 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

walked  about  while  they  were  eating.  We 
went  up  a  canon  that  had  high  cliffs  on  one 
side,  and  came  to  a  place  where,  high  up  on 
the  rock  wall,  in  great  black  letters,  was  this 
legend:  "Dick  fell  off  of  this  here  clift  and 
died."  I  should  think  there  would  be  no 
question  that  any  one  who  fell  from  that 
place  on  to  the  boulders  below  would  die. 

Soon  we  started  again,  and  if  not  quite  so 
jolly  as  we  were  before,  at  least  we  looked 
forward  to  our  supper  with  a  keen  relish  and 
the  horses  were  urged  faster  than  they  other- 
wise would  have  been.  The  beautiful  snow 
is  rather  depressing,  however,  when  there 
is  snow  everywhere.  The  afternoon  passed 
swiftly  and  the  horses  were  becoming  jaded. 
At  four  o'clock  it  was  almost  dark.  We  had 
been  going  up  a  deep  canon  and  came  upon 
an  appalling  sight.  There  had  been  a  snow- 
slide  and  the  canon  was  half-filled  with  snow, 
rock,  and  broken  trees.  The  whole  way  was 
blocked,  and  what  to  do  we  did  n't  know,  for 
the  horses  could  hardly  be  gotten  along  and 
146 


THE  "STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER 

we  could  not  pass  the  snow-slide.  We  were 
twenty-five  miles  from  home,  night  was  al- 
most upon  us,  and  we  were  almost  starved. 
But  we  were  afraid  to  stay  in  that  canon  lest 
more  snow  should  slide  and  bury  us,  so  sadly 
we  turned  back  to  find  as  comfortable  a 
place  as  we  could  to  spend  the  night.  The 
prospects  were  very  discouraging,  and  I  am 
afraid  we  were  all  near  tears,  when  suddenly 
there  came  upon  the  cold  air  a  clear  blast 
from  a  horn.  Mrs.  Louderer  cried,  "  Ach,  der 
reveille!"  Once  I  heard  a  lecturer  tell  of 
climbing  the  Matterhorn  and  the  calls  we 
heard  brought  his  story  to  mind.  No  music 
could  have  been  so  beautiful.  It  soon  became 
apparent  that  we  were  being  signaled ;  so  we 
drove  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  and  found 
ourselves  going  up  a  wide  canon.  We  had 
passed  the  mouth  of  it  shortly  before  we 
had  come  to  the  slide.  Even  the  tired  horses 
took  new  courage,  and  every  few  moments  a 
sweet,  clear  call  put  new  heart  into  us.  Soon 
we  saw  a  light.  We  had  to  drive  very  slowly 
147 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

and  in  places  barely  crept.  The  bugler 
changed  his  notes  and  we  knew  he  was  won- 
dering if  we  were  coming,  so  Mr.  Stewart 
helloed.  At  once  we  had  an  answer,  and 
after  that  we  were  steadily  guided  by  the 
horn.  Many  times  we  could  not  see  the  light, 
but  we  drove  in  the  right  direction  because 
we  could  hear  the  horn. 

At  last,  when  it  was  quite  dark  and  the 
horses  could  go  no  farther,  we  drew  up  before 
the  fire  that  had  been  our  beacon  light.  It 
was  a  bonfire  built  out  upon  a  point  of  rock 
at  the  end  of  the  canon.  Back  from  it  among 
the  pines  was  a  'dobe  house.  A  dried-up 
mummy  of  a  man  advanced  from  the  fire 
to  meet  us,  explaining  that  he  had  seen  us 
through  his  field-glasses  and,  knowing  about 
the  snow-slide,  had  ventured  to  attract  us 
to  his  poor  place.  Carlota  Juanita  was 
within,  prepared  for  the  senoras,  if  they 
would  but  walk  in.  If  they  would!  More 
dead  than  alive,  we  scrambled  out,  cold- 
stiffened  and  hungry.  Carlota  Juanita  threw 
148 


THE  "STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER 

open  the  low,  wide  door  and  we  stumbled 
into  comfort.  She  hastened  to  help  us  off 
with  our  wraps,  piled  more  wood  on  the 
open  fire,  and  busied  herself  to  make  us 
welcome  and  comfortable.  Poor  Carlota 
Juanita!  Perhaps  you  think  she  was  some 
slender,  limpid-eyed,  olive-cheeked  beauty. 
She  was  fat  and  forty,  but  not  fair.  She  had 
the  biggest  wad  of  hair  that  I  ever  saw,  and 
her  face  was  so  fat  that  her  eyes  looked 
beady.  She  wore  an  old  heelless  pair  of 
slippers  or  sandals  that  would  hardly  stay 
on,  and  at  every  step  they  made  the  most 
exasperating  sliding  noise,  but  she  was  all 
kindness  and  made  us  feel  very  welcome. 
The  floor  was  of  dirt,  and  they  had  the  lar- 
gest fireplace  I  have  ever  seen,  with  the 
widest,  cleanest  hearth,  which  was  where 
they  did  their  cooking.  All  their  furniture 
was  home-made,  and  on  a  low  bench  near  the 
door  were  three  water-jars  which,  I  am  sure, 
were  handmade.  Away  back  in  a  corner  they 
had  a  small  altar,  on  which  was  a  little  statue 
149 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

of  Mary  and  the  Child.  Before  it,  suspended 
by  a  wire  from  the  rafters,  was  a  cow's  horn 
in  which  a  piece  of  punk  was  burning,  just  as 
the  incense  is  kept  burning  in  churches.  Sup- 
per was  already  prepared  and  was  simmering 
and  smoking  on  the  hearth.  As  soon  as  the 
men  came  in,  Carlota  Juanita  put  it  on  the 
table,  which  was  bare  of  cloth.  I  can't  say 
that  I  really  like  Mexican  bread,  but  they 
certainly  know  how  to  cook  meat.  They  had 
a  most  wonderful  pot-roast  with  potatoes  and 
corn  dumplings  that  were  delicious.  The  roast 
had  been  slashed  in  places  and  small  bits  of 
garlic,  pepper,  bacon,  and,  I  think,  parsley, 
inserted.  After  it  and  the  potatoes  and  the 
dumplings  were  done,  Carlota  had  poured 
in  a  can  of  tomatoes.  You  may  not  think 
that  was  good,  but  I  can  assure  you  it  was 
and  that  we  did  ample  justice  to  it.  After 
we  had  eaten  until  we  were  hardly  able  to 
swallow,  Carlota  Juanita  served  a  queer 
Mexican  pie.  It  was  made  of  dried  buffalo- 
berries,  stewed  and  made  very  sweet.  A 
150 


THE  -STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER 

layer  of  batter  had  been  poured  into  a  deep 
baking-dish,  then  the  berries,  and  then  more 
batter.  Then  it  was  baked  and  served  hot 
with  plenty  of  hard  sauce ;  and  it  was  power- 
ful good,  too.  She  had  very  peculiar  coffee 
with  goat's  milk  in  it.  I  took  mine  without 
the  milk,  but  I  could  n't  make  up  my  mind 
that  I  liked  the  coffee.  We  sat  around  the 
fire  drinking  it,  when  Manuel  Pedro  Felipe 
told  us  it  was  some  he  had  brought  from 
Mexico.  I  did  n't  know  they  raised  it  there, 
but  he  told  us  many  interesting  things  about 
it.  He  and  Carlota  Juanita  both  spoke 
fairly  good  English.  They  had  lived  for 
many  years  in  their  present  home  and  had 
some  sheep,  a  few  goats,  a  cow  or  two,  a  few 
pigs,  and  chickens  and  turkeys.  They  had  a 
small  patch  of  land  that  Carlota  Juanita 
tilled  and  on  which  was  raised  the  squaw 
corn  that  hung  in  bunches  from  the  rafters. 
Down  where  we  live  we  can't  get  sweet  corn 
to  mature,  but  here,  so  much  higher  up,  they 
have  a  sheltered  little  nook  where  they  are 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

able  to  raise  many  things.  Upon  a  long  shelf 
above  the  fire  was  an  ugly  old  stone  image, 
the  bottom  broken  off  and  some  plaster 
applied  to  make  it  set  level.  The  ugly  thing 
they  had  brought  with  them  from  some  old 
ruined  temple  in  Mexico.  We  were  all  so 
very  tired  that  soon  Carlota  Juanita  brought 
out  an  armful  of  the  thickest,  brightest  rugs 
and  spread  them  over  the  floor  for  us  to  sleep 
upon.  The  men  retired  to  a  lean-to  room, 
where  they  slept,  but  not  before  Manuel 
Pedro  Felipe  and  Carlota  had  knelt  be- 
fore their  altar  for  their  devotions.  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  and  myself  and  Jerrine, 
knowing  the  rosary,  surprised  them  by 
kneeling  with  them.  It  is  good  to  meet  with 
kindred  faith  away  off  in  the  mountains.  It 
seems  there  could  not  possibly  be  a  mistake 
when  people  so  far  away  from  creeds  and 
doctrines  hold  to  the  faith  of  their  child- 
hood and  find  the  practice  a  pleasure  after 
so  many  years.  The  men  bade  us  good- 
night, and  we  lost  no  time  in  settling  our- 
152 


THE  "STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER 

selves  to  rest.    Luckily  we  had  plenty  of 
blankets. 

Away  in  the  night  I  was  awakened  by  a 
noise  that  frightened  me.  All  was  still,  but 
instantly  there  flashed  through  my  mind 
tales  of  murdered  travelers,  and  I  was  al- 
most paralyzed  with  fear  when  again  I  heard 
that  stealthy,  sliding  noise,  just  like  Carlota 
Juanita's  old  slippers.  The  fire  had  burned 
down,  but  just  then  the  moon  came  from 
behind  a  cloud  and  shone  through  the  win- 
dow upon  Carlota  Juanita,  who  was  asleep 
with  her  mouth  open.  I  could  also  see  a  pine 
bough  which  was  scraping  against  the  wall 
outside,  which  was  perhaps  making  the  noise. 
I  turned  over  and  saw  the  punk  burning, 
which  cast  a  dim  light  over  the  serene  face 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  so  all  fear  vanished 
and  I  slept  as  long  as  they  would  let  me  in 
the  morning.  After  a  breakfast  of  tortillas, 
cheese,  and  rancid  butter,  and  some  more  of 
the  coffee,  we  started  again  for  the  stocking- 
leg  dinner.  Carlota  Juanita  stood  in  the 
153 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

door,  waving  to  us  as  long  as  we  could  see 
her,  and  Manuel  P.  F.  sat  with  Mr.  Stewart 
to  guide  us  around  the  snow-slide.  Under 
one  arm  he  carried  the  horn  with  which  he 
had  called  us  to  him.  It  came  from  some 
long-horned  cow  in  Mexico,  was  beautifully 
polished,  and  had  a  fancy  rim  of  silver.  I 
should  like  to  own  it,  but  I  could  not  make 
it  produce  a  sound.  When  we  were  safe  on 
our  way  our  guide  left  us,  and  our  spirits 
ran  high  again.  The  horses  were  feeling 
good  also,  so  it  was  a  merry,  laughing  party 
that  drew  up  before  Zebbie's  two  hours 
later. 

Long  before  I  had  lent  Gavotte  a  set  of 
the  Leather-Stocking  Tales,  which  he  had 
read  aloud  to  Zebbie.  Together  they  had 
planned  a  Leather-Stocking  dinner,  at  which 
should  be  served  as  many  of  the  viands  men- 
tioned in  the  Tales  as  possible.  We  stayed 
two  days  and  it  was  one  long  feast.  We  had 
venison  served  in  half  a  dozen  different  ways. 
We  had  antelope;  we  had  porcupine,  or 
154 


THE  "STOCKING-LEG"  DINNER 

hedgehog,  as  Pathfinder  called  it;  and  also 
we  had  beaver-tail,  which  he  found  tooth- 
some, but  which  I  did  not.  We  had  grouse 
and  sage  hen.  They  broke  the  ice  and 
snared  a  lot  of  trout.  In  their  cellar  they 
had  a  barrel  of  trout  prepared  exactly  like 
mackerel,  and  they  were  more  delicious  than 
mackerel  because  they  were  finer-grained. 
I  had  been  a  little  disappointed  in  Zebbie 
after  his  return  from  home.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  Pauline  had  spoiled  him.  I  guess  I  was 
jealous.  This  time  he  was  the  same  little  old 
Zebbie  I  had  first  seen.  He  seemed  to  thor- 
oughly enjoy  our  visit,  and  I  am  sure  we 
each  had  the  time  of  our  lives.  We  made 
it  home  without  mishap  the  same  day  we 
started,  all  of  us  sure  life  held  something 
new  and  enjoyable  after  all. 

If  nothing  happens  there  are  some  more 
good  times  in  store  for  me  this  summer. 
Gavotte  once  worked  under  Professor  Mars- 
den  when  he  was  out  here  getting  fossils  for 
the  Smithsonian  Institution,  and  he  is  very 
155 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

interesting  to  listen  to.  He  has  invited  us  to 
go  with  him  out  to  the  Bad-Land  hills  in 
the  summer  to  search  for  fossils.  The  hills 
are  only  a  few  miles  from  here  and  I  look 
forward  to  a  splendid  time. 


XVI 

THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

[No  date.] 
DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  — 

...  I  am  so  afraid  that  you  will  get  an 
overdose  of  culture  from  your  visit  to  the 
Hub  and  am  sending  you  an  antidote  of  our 
sage,  sand,  and  sunshine. 

Mrs.  Louderer  had  come  over  to  see  our 
boy.  Together  we  had  prepared  supper  and 
were  waiting  for  Clyde,  who  had  gone  to  the 
post-office.  Soon  he  came,  and  after  the 
usual  friendly  wrangling  between  him  and 
Mrs.  Louderer  we  had  supper.  Then  they 
began  their  inevitable  game  of  cribbage, 
while  I  sat  near  the  fire  with  Baby  on  my  lap. 
Clyde  was  telling  us  of  a  raid  on  a  ranch 
about  seventy-five  miles  away,  in  which  the 
thieves  had  driven  off  thirty  head  of  fine 
horses.  There  were  only  two  of  the  thieves, 
157 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

and  the  sheriff  with  a  large  posse  was  pursu- 
ing them  and  forcing  every  man  they  came 
across  into  the  chase,  and  a  regular  man-hunt 
was  on.  It  was  interesting  only  because  one 
of  the  thieves  was  a  noted  outlaw  then  out 
on  parole  and  known  to  be  desperate.  We 
were  in  no  way  alarmed ;  the  trouble  was  all 
in  the  next  county,  and  somehow  that  always 
seems  so  far  away.  We  knew  if  the  men  ever 
came  together  there  would  be  a  pitched 
battle,  with  bloodshed  and  death,  but  there 
seemed  little  chance  that  the  sheriff  would 
ever  overtake  the  men. 

I  remember  I  was  feeling  sorry  for  the  poor 
fellows  with  a  price  on  their  heads,  —  the 
little  pink  man  on  my  lap  had  softened  my 
heart  wonderfully.  Jerrine  was  enjoying  the 
pictures  in  a  paper  illustrating  early  days  on 
the  range,  wild  scenes  of  roping  and  brand- 
ing. I  had  remarked  that  I  did  n't  believe 
there  were  any  more  such  times,  when  Mrs. 
Louderer  replied,  "  Dot  yust  shows  how  much 
it  iss  you  do  not  know.  You  shall  come  to 
158 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

mine  house  and  when  away  you  come  it  shall 
be  wiser  as  when  you  left."  I  had  kept  at 
home  very  closely  all  summer,  and  a  little 
trip  seemed  the  most  desirable  thing  I  could 
think  of,  particularly  as  the  baby  would  be 
in  no  way  endangered.  But  long  ago  I  learned 
that  the  quickest  way  to  get  what  I  want 
is  not  to  want  it,  outwardly,  at  least.  So  I 
assumed  an  indifference  that  was  not  very 
real.  The  result  was  that  next  morning  every 
one  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  me  started,  — 
Clyde  greasing  the  little  old  wagon  that  looks 
like  a  twin  to  Cora  Belle's,  and  Mrs.  Loud- 
erer,  who  thinks  no  baby  can  be  properly 
brought  up  without  goose-grease,  busy  greas- 
ing the  baby  "so  as  he  shall  not  some  cold 
take  yet."  Mrs.  Louderer  had  ridden  over, 
so  her  saddle  was  laid  in  the  wagon  and  her 
pony,  Bismarck,  was  hitched  in  with  Chub, 
the  laziest  horse  in  all  Wyoming.  I  knew 
Clyde  could  manage  very  well  while  I  should 
be  gone,  and  there  was  n't  a  worry  to  inter- 
fere with  the  pleasure  of  my  outing. 
159 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

We  jogged  along  right  merrily,  Mrs. 
Louderer  devoting  her  entire  attention  to 
trying  to  make  Chub  pull  even  with  Bis- 
marck, Jerrine  and  myself  enjoying  the  ever- 
changing  views.  I  wish  I  could  lay  it  all 
before  you.  Summer  was  departing  with 
reluctant  feet,  unafraid  of  Winter's  messen- 
gers, the  chill  winds.  That  day  was  especially 
beautiful.  The  gleaming  snow  peaks  and 
heavy  forest  south  and  at  our  back;  west, 
north,  and  east,  long,  broken  lines  of  the  dis- 
tant mountains  with  their  blue  haze.  Pilot 
Butte  to  the  north,  one  hundred  miles  away, 
stood  out  clear  and  distinct  as  though  we 
could  drive  there  in  an  hour  or  two.  The 
dull,  neutral-colored  "  Bad  Land  "  hills  nearer 
us  are  interesting  only  because  we  know 
they  are  full  of  the  fossil  remains  of  strange 
creatures  long  since  extinct. 

For  a  distance  our  way  lay  up  Henry's 

Fork  valley ;  prosperous  little  ranches  dotted 

the  view,  ripening  grain  rustled  pleasantly  in 

the  warm  morning  sunshine,  and  closely  cut 

160 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

alfalfa  fields  made  bright  spots  of  emerald 
against  the  dun  landscape.  The  quaking 
aspens  were  just  beginning  to  turn  yellow; 
everywhere  purple  asters  were  a  blaze  of 
glory  except  where  the  rabbit-bush  grew  in 
clumps,  waving  its  feathery  plumes  of  gold. 
Over  it  all  the  sky  was  so  deeply  blue,  with 
little,  airy,  white  clouds  drifting  lazily  along. 
Every  breeze  brought  scents  of  cedar,  pine, 
and  sage.  At  this  point  the  road  wound 
along  the  base  of  cedar  hills;  some  magpies 
were  holding  a  noisy  caucus  among  the  trees, 
a  pair  of  bluebirds  twittered  excitedly  upon 
a  fence,  and  high  overhead  a  great  black 
eagle  soared.  All  was  so  peaceful  that  horse- 
thieves  and  desperate  men  seemed  too  remote 
to  think  about. 

Presently  we  crossed  the  creek  and  headed 
our  course  due  north  toward  the  desert  and 
the  buttes.  I  saw  that  we  were  not  going 
right  to  reach  Mrs.  Louderer's  ranch,  so  I 
asked  where  we  were  supposed  to  be  going. 
"We  iss  going  to  the  mouth  of  Dry  Creek  by, 
161 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

where  it  goes  Black's  Fork  into.  Dere  mine 
punchers  holdts  five  huntert  steers.  We  shall 
de  camp  visit  and  you  shall  come  back  wiser 
as  when  you  went." 

Well,  we  both  came  away  wiser.  I  had 
thought  we  were  going  only  to  the  Louderer 
ranch,  so  I  put  up  no  lunch,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  the  horses  either.  But  it  was  too 
beautiful  a  time  to  let  such  things  annoy  us. 
Anyway,  we  expected  to  reach  camp  just 
after  noon,  so  a  little  delay  about  dinner 
did  n't  seem  so  bad.  We  had  entered  the 
desert  by  noon;  the  warm,  red  sands  fell 
away  from  the  wheels  with  soft,  hissing 
sounds.  Occasionally  a  little  horned  toad 
sped  panting  along  before  us,  suddenly  dart- 
ing aside  to  watch  with  bright,  cunning  eyes 
as  we  passed.  Some  one  had  placed  a  buf- 
falo's skull  beside  a  big  bunch  of  sage  and  on 
the  sage  a  splendid  pair  of  elk's  antlers.  We 
saw  many  such  scattered  over  the  sands, 
grim  reminders  of  a  past  forever  gone. 

About  three  o'clock  we  reached  our  desti- 
162 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

nation,  but  no  camp  was  there.  We  were 
more  disappointed  than  I  can  tell  you,  but 
Mrs.  Louderer  merely  went  down  to  the 
river,  a  few  yards  away,  and  cut  an  armful  of 
willow  sticks  wherewith  to  coax  Chub  to  a 
little  brisker  pace,  and  then  we  took  the  trail 
of  the  departed  mess-wagon.  Shortly,  we 
topped  a  low  range  of  hills,  and  beyond,  in  a 
cuplike  valley,  was  the  herd  of  sleek  beauties 
feeding  contentedly  on  the  lush  green  grass. 
I  suppose  it  sounds  odd  to  hear  desert  and 
river  in  the  same  breath,  but  within  a  few 
feet  of  the  river  the  desert  begins,  where 
nothing  grows  but  sage  and  greasewood.  In 
oasis-like  spots  will  be  found  plenty  of  grass 
where  the  soil  is  nearer  the  surface  and  where 
sub-irrigation  keeps  the  roots  watered.  In 
one  of  these  spots  the  herd  was  being  held. 
When  the  grass  became  short  they  would  be 
moved  to  another  such  place. 

It  required,  altogether,  fifteen  men  to  take 
care  of  the  herd,  because  many  of  the  cattle 
had  been  bought  in  different  places,  some  in 
163 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Utah,  and  these  were  always  trying  to  run 
away  and  work  back  toward  home,  so  they 
required  constant  herding.  Soon  we  caught 
the  glimmer  of  white  canvas,  and  knew  it 
was  the  cover  of  the  mess- wagon,  so  we 
headed  that  way. 

The  camp  was  quite  near  the  river  so  as 
to  be  handy  to  water  and  to  have  the  willows 
for  wood.  Not  a  soul  was  at  camp.  The 
fire  was  out,  and  even  the  ashes  had  blown 
away.  The  mess-box  was  locked  and  Mrs. 
Louderer's  loud  calls  brought  only  echoes 
from  the  high  rock  walls  across  the  river. 
However,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
make  the  best  of  it,  so  we  tethered  the  horses 
and  went  down  to  the  river  to  relieve  our- 
selves of  the  dust  that  seemed  determined  to 
unite  with  the  dust  that  we  were  made  of. 
Mrs.  Louderer  declared  she  was  "so  mat  as 
nodings  and  would  fire  dot  Herman  so  soon 
as  she  could  see  him  alreaty." 

Presently  we  saw  the  most  grotesque  fig- 
ure approaching  camp.    It  was  Herman,  the 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

fat  cook,  on  Hunks,  a  gaunt,  ugly  old  horse, 
whose  days  of  usefulness  under  the  saddle 
were  past  and  who  had  degenerated  into  a 
workhorse.  The  disgrace  of  it  seemed  to 
be  driving  him  into  a  decline,  but  he  stum- 
bled along  bravely  under  his  heavy  load.  A 
string  of  a  dozen  sage  chickens  swung  on 
one  side,  and  across  the  saddle  in  front  of 
Herman  lay  a  young  antelope.  A  volley  of 
German  abuse  was  hurled  at  poor  Herman, 
wound  up  in  as  plain  American  as  Mrs. 
Louderer  could  speak:  "And  who  iss  going 
to  pay  de  game  warden  de  fine  of  dot  ante- 
lope what  you  haf  shot?  And  how  iss  it  that 
we  haf  come  de  camp  by  und  so  starved  as 
we  iss  hungry,  and  no  cook  und  no  food?  Iss 
dat  for  why  you  iss  paid?" 

Herman  was  some  Dutch  himself,  however. 
"How  iss  it,"  he  demanded,  "dat  you  haf 
not  so  much  sense  as  you  haf  tongue?  How 
haf  you  lived  so  long  as  always  in  de  West 
und  don't  know  enough  to  hunt  a  bean-hole 
when  you  reach  your  own  camp.  Hey?" 

165 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Mrs.  Louderer  was  very  properly  subdued 
and  I  delighted  when  he  removed  the  stones 
from  where  the  fire  had  been,  exposing  a  pit 
from  which,  with  a  pair  of  pot-hooks,  he 
lifted  pots  and  ovens  of  the  most  delicious 
meat,  beans,  and  potatoes.  From  the  mess- 
box  he  brought  bread  and  apricot  pie.  From 
a  near-by  spring  he  brought  us  a  bright,  new 
pail  full  of  clear,  sparkling  water,  but  Mrs. 
Louderer  insisted  upon  tea  and  in  a  short 
time  he  had  it  ready  for  us.  The  tarpaulin 
was  spread  on  the  ground  for  us  to  eat  from, 
and  soon  we  were  showing  an  astonished 
cook  just  how  much  food  two  women  and  a 
child  could  get  away  with.  I  ate  a  good  deal 
of  ashes  with  my  roast  beef  and  we  all  ate 
more  or  less  sand,  but  fastidiousness  about 
food  is  a  good  thing  to  get  rid  of  when  you 
come  West  to  camp. 

When  the  regular  supper-time  arrived  the 

punchers  began  to  gather  in,  and  the  "  boss," 

who  had  been  to  town  about  some  business, 

came  in  and  brought  back  the  news  of  the 

1 66 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

man-hunt.  The  punchers  sat  about  the  fire, 
eating  hungrily  from  their  tin  plates  and 
eagerly  listening  to  the  recital.  Two  of  the 
boys  were  tenderfeet:  one  from  Tennessee 
called  "Daisy  Belle,"  because  he  whistled 
that  tune  so  much  and  because  he  had 
nose-bleed  so  much,  —  could  n't  even  ride  a 
broncho  but  his  nose  would  bleed  for  hours 
afterwards;  and  the  other,  "N'Yawk,"  so 
called  from  his  native  State.  N'Yawk  was  a 
great  boaster;  said  he  wasn't  afraid  of  no 
durned  outlaw,  —  said  his  father  had  waded 
in  bloody  gore  up  to  his  neck  and  that  he 
was  a  chip  off  the  old  block,  —  rather  hoped 
the  chase  would  come  our  way  so  he  could 
try  his  marksmanship. 

The  air  began  to  grow  chill  and  the  sky 
was  becoming  overcast.  Preparations  for  the 
night  busied  everybody.  Fresh  ponies  were 
being  saddled  for  the  night  relief,  the  hard- 
ridden,  tired  ones  that  had  been  used  that 
day  being  turned  loose  to  graze.  Some  poles 
were  set  up  and  a  tarpaulin  arranged  for 
167 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Mrs.  Louderer  and  me  to  sleep  under.  Mrs. 
Louderer  and  Jerrine  lay  down  on  some 
blankets  and  I  unrolled  some  more,  which  I 
was  glad  to  notice  were  clean,  for  Baby  and 
myself.  I  can't  remember  ever  being  more 
tired  and  sleepy,  but  I  could  n't  go  to  sleep. 
I  could  hear  the  boss  giving  orders  in  quick, 
decisive  tones.  I  could  hear  the  punchers 
discussing  the  raid,  finally  each  of  them  tell- 
ing exploits  of  his  favorite  heroes  of  out- 
lawry. I  could  hear  Herman,  busy  among 
his  pots  and  pans.  Then  he  mounted  the 
tongue  of  the  mess-wagon  and  called  out, 
"We  haf  for  breakfast  cackle-berries,  first 
vot  iss  come  iss  served,  und  those  vot  iss 
sleep  late  gets  nodings." 

I  had  never  before  heard  of  cackle-berries 
and  asked  sleepy  Mrs.  Louderer  what  they 
were.  "Vait  until  morning  and  you  shall 
see,"  was  all  the  information  that  I  received. 

Soon  a  gentle,  drizzling  rain  began,  and 
the  punchers  hurriedly  made  their  beds,  as 
they  did  so  twitting  N'Yawk  about  making 
1 68 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

his  between  our  tent  and  the  fire.  "You're 
dead  right,  pard,"  I  heard  one  of  them  say, 
"  to  make  your  bed  there,  fer  if  them  outlaws 
comes  this  way  they'll  think  you  air  one  of 
the  women  and  they  won't  shoot  you.  Just 
us  men  air  in  danger." 

"Confound  your  fool  tongues,  how  they 
goin'  to  know  there's  any  women  here?  I 
tell  you,  fellers,  my  old  man  waded  in  bloody 
gore  up  to  his  neck  and  I'm  just  like  him." 

They  kept  up  this  friendly  parleying  until 
I  dozed  off  to  sleep,  but  I  could  n't  stay 
asleep.  I  don't  think  I  was  afraid,  but  I  cer- 
tainly was  nervous.  The  river  was  making  a 
sad,  moaning  sound;  the  rain  fell  gently,  like 
tears.  All  nature  seemed  to  be  mourning 
about  something,  happened  or  going  to  hap- 
pen. Down  by  the  river  an  owl  hooted  dis- 
mally. Half  a  mile  away  the  night-herders 
were  riding  round  and  round  the  herd.  One 
of  them  was  singing,  —  faint  but  distinct 
came  his  song:  "Bury  me  not  on  the  lone 
prairie."  Over  and  over  again  he  sang  it. 
169 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

After  a  short  interval  of  silence  he  began 
again.  This  time  it  was,  "I'm  thinking  of 
my  dear  old  mother,  ten  thousand  miles 
away." 

Two  punchers  stirred  uneasily  and  began 
talking.  "  Blast  that  Tex,"  I  heard  one  of 
them  say,  "he  certainly  has  it  bad  to-night. 
What  the  deuce  makes  him  sing  so  much?  I 
feel  like  bawling  like  a  kid ;  I  wish  he  'd  shut 
up."  "He's  homesick;  I  guess  we  all  are  too, 
but  they  ain't  no  use  staying  awake  and  let- 
ting it  soak  in.  Shake  the  water  off  the  tarp, 
you  air  lettin'  water  catch  on  your  side  an' 
it's  running  into  my  ear." 

That  is  the  last  I  heard  for  a  long  time.  I 
must  have  slept.  I  remember  that  the  baby 
stirred  and  I  spoke  to  him.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  something  struck  against  the  guy-rope 
that  held  our  tarpaulin  taut,  but  I  was  n't 
sure.  I  was  in  that  dozy  state,  half  asleep, 
when  nothing  is  quite  clear.  It  seemed  as 
though  I  had  been  listening  to  the  tramp  of 
feet  for  hours  and  that  a  whole  army  must 
170 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

be  filing  past,  when  I  was  brought  suddenly 
into  keen  consciousness  by  a  loud  voice 
demanding,  "Hello!  Whose  outfit  is  this?" 
"This  is  the  7  Up,  —  Louderer's,"  the  boss 
called  back;  "what's  wanted?"  "Is  that 
you,  Mat?  This  is  Ward's  posse.  We  been 
after  Meeks  and  Murdock  all  night.  It's  so 
durned  dark  we  can't  see,  but  we  got  to  keep 
going;  their  horses  are  about  played.  We 
changed  at  Hadley's,  but  we  ain't  had  a  bite 
to  eat  and  we  got  to  search  your  camp." 
"Sure  thing,"  the  boss  answered,  "roll  off 
and  take  a  look.  Hi,  there,  you  Herm,  get 
out  of  there  and  fix  these  fellers  something 
to  eat." 

We  were  surrounded.  I  could  hear  the 
clanking  of  spurs  and  the  sound  of  the  wet, 
tired  horses  shaking  themselves  and  rattling 
the  saddles  on  every  side.  "Who's  in  the 
wickiup?"  I  heard  the  sheriff  ask.  "Some 
women  and  kids,  -  -  Mrs.  Louderer  and  a 
friend." 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  Herman  had  a 
171 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

fire  coaxed  into  a  blaze  and  Mat  Watson  and 
the  sheriff  went  from  bed  to  bed  with  a  lan- 
tern. They  searched  the  mess-wagon,  even, 
although  Herman  had  been  sleeping  there. 
The  sheriff  unceremoniously  flung  out  the 
wood  and  kindling  the  cook  had  stored  there. 
He  threw  back  the  flap  of  our  tent  and  flashed 
the  lantern  about.  He  could  see  plainly 
enough  that  there  were  but  the  four  of  us, 
but  I  wondered  how  they  saw  outside  where 
the  rain  made  it  worse,  the  lantern  was  so 
dirty.  "Yes,"  I  heard  the  sheriff  say,  "  we  've 
been  pushing  them  hard.  They're  headed 
north,  evidently  intend  to  hit  the  railroad 
but  they  '11  never  make  it.  Every  ford  on  the 
river  is  guarded  except  right  along  here,  and 
there 's  five  parties  ranging  on  the  other  side. 
My  party 's  split,  —  a  bunch  has  gone  on  to 
the  bridge.  If  they  find  anything  they're  to 
fire  a  volley.  Same  with  us.  I  knew  they 
could  n't  cross  the  river  nowhere  but  at  the 
bridge  or  here." 

The  men  had  gathered  about  the  fire  and 
172 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

were  gulping  hot  coffee  and  cold  beef  and 
bread.  The  rain  ran  off  their  slickers  in  little 
rivulets.  I  was  sorry  the  fire  was  not  better, 
because  some  of  the  men  had  on  only  ordi- 
nary coats,  and  the  drizzling  rain  seemed 
determined  that  the  fire  should  not  blaze 
high. 

Before  they  had  finished  eating  we  heard 
a  shot,  followed  by  a  regular  medley  of  dull 
booms.  The  men  were  in  their  saddles  and 
gone  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it.  The 
firing  had  ceased  save  for  a  few  sharp  reports 
from  the  revolvers,  like  a  coyote's  spiteful 
snapping.  The  pounding  of  the  horse's  hoofs 
grew  fainter,  and  soon  all  was  still.  I  kept 
my  ears  strained  for  the  slightest  sound.  The 
cook  and  the  boss,  the  only  men  up,  hurried 
back  to  bed.  Watson  had  risen  so  hurriedly 
that  he  had  not  been  careful  about  his 
"tarp"  and  water  had  run  into  his  bed.  But 
that  would  n't  disconcert  anybody  but  a 
tenderfoot.  I  kept  waiting  in  tense  silence 
to  hear  them  come  back  with  dead  or 
173 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

wounded,  but  there  was  not  a  sound.  The 
rain  had  stopped.  Mrs.  Louderer  struck  a 
match  and  said  it  was  three  o'clock.  Soon  she 
was  asleep.  Through  a  rift  in  the  clouds  a 
star  peeped  out.  I  could  smell  the  wet  sage 
and  the  sand.  A  little  breeze  came  by, 
bringing  Tex's  song  once  more:  — 

"Oh,  it  matters  not,  so  I've  been  told, 
How  the  body  lies  when  the  heart  grows  cold." 

Oh,  dear!  the  world  seemed  so  full  of  sad- 
ness. I  kissed  my  baby's  little  downy  head 
and  went  to  sleep. 

It  seems  that  cowboys  are  rather  sleepy- 
headed  in  the  morning  and  it  is  a  part  of  the 
cook's  job  to  get  them  up.  The  next  I  knew, 
Herman  had  a  tin  pan  on  which  he  was  beat- 
ing a  vigorous  tattoo,  all  the  time  hollering, 
"We  haf  cackle-berries  und  antelope  steak 
for  breakfast."  The  baby  was  startled  by  the 
noise,  so  I  attended  to  him  and  then  dressed 
myself  for  breakfast.  I  went  down  to  the 
little  spring  to  wash  my  face.  The  morn- 
ing was  lowering  and  gray,  but  a  wind  had 
174 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

sprung  up  and  the  clouds  were  parting.  There 
are  times  when  anticipation  is  a  great  deal 
better  than  realization.  Never  having  seen 
a  cackle-berry,  my  imagination  pictured 
them  as  some  very  luscious  wild  fruit,  and 
I  was  so  afraid  none  would  be  left  that  I 
could  n't  wait  until  the  men  should  eat  and 
be  gone.  So  I  surprised  them  by  joining  the 
very  earliest  about  the  fire.  Herman  began 
serving  breakfast.  I  held  out  my  tin  plate 
and  received  some  of  the  steak,  an  egg,  and 
two  delicious  biscuits.  We  had  our  coffee  in 
big  enameled  cups,  without  sugar  or  cream, 
but  it  was  piping  hot  and  so  good.  I  had 
finished  my  egg  and  steak  and  so  I  told 
Herman  I  was  ready  for  my  cackle-berries. 

" Listen  to  her  now,  will  you?"  he  asked. 
And  then  indignantly,  "How  many  cackle- 
berries  does  you  want?  You  haf  had  so  many 
as  I  haf  cooked  for  you."  "Why,  Herman,  I 
have  n't  had  a  single  berry,"  I  said.  Then 
such  a  roar  of  laughter.  Herman  gazed  at 
me  in  astonishment,  and  Mr.  Watson  gently 
175 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

explained  to  me  that  eggs  and  cackle-berries 
were  one  and  the  same. 

N'Yawk  was  not  yet  up,  so  Herman 
walked  over  to  his  bed,  kicked  him  a  few 
times,  and  told  him  he  would  scald  him  if  he 
did  n't  turn  out.  It  was  quite  light  by  then. 
N'Yawk  joined  us  in  a  few  minutes.  "What 
the  deuce  was  you  fellers  kicking  up  such 
a  rumpus  fer  last  night?  "  he  asked.  "You 
blamed  blockhead,  don't  you  know?"  the 
boss  answered.  "Why,  the  sheriff  searched 
this  camp  last  night.  They  had  a  battle 
down  at  the  bridge  afterwards  and  either 
they  are  all  killed  or  else  no  one  is  hurt. 
They  would  have  been  here  otherwise.  Ward 
took  a  shot  at  them  once  yesterday,  but  I 
guess  he  did  n't  hit;  the  men  got  away,  any- 
way. And  durn  your  sleepy  head!  you  just 
lay  there  and  snored.  Well,  I  '11  be  danged!" 
Words  failed  him,  his  wonder  and  disgust 
were  so  great. 

N'Yawk  turned  to  get  his  breakfast.  His 
light  shirt  was  blood-stained  in  the  back,  — 
176 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

seemed  to  be  soaked.  "What 's  the  matter 
with  your  shirt,  it's  soaked  with  blood?" 
some  one  asked.  "Then  that  durned  Daisy 
Belle  has  been  crawling  in  with  me,  that's 
all,"  he  said.  "Blame  his  bleeding  snoot. 
I  '11  punch  it  and  give  it  something  to  bleed 
for." 

Then  Mr.  Watson  said,  "Daisy  ain't  been 
in  all  night.  He  took  Jesse's  place  when  he 
went  to  town  after  supper."  That  started 
an  inquiry  and  search  which  speedily  showed 
that  some  one  with  a  bleeding  wound  had 
gotten  in  with  N'Yawk.  It  also  developed 
that  Mr.  Watson's  splendid  horse  and  saddle 
were  gone,  the  rope  that  the  horse  had  been 
picketed  with  lying  just  as  it  had  been  cut 
from  his  neck. 

Now  all  was  bustle  and  excitement.  It  was 
plainly  evident  that  one  of  the  outlaws  had 
lain  hidden  on  N' Yawk's  bed  while  the  sheriff 
was  there,  and  that  afterwards  he  had  sad- 
dled the  horse  and  made  his  escape.  His  own 
horse  was  found  in  the  willows,  the  saddle 
177 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

cut  loose  and  the  bridle  off,  but  the  poor, 
jaded  thing  had  never  moved.  By  sunup  the 
search-party  returned,  all  too  worn-out  with 
twenty-four  hours  in  the  saddle  to  continue 
the  hunt.  They  were  even  too  worn-out  to 
eat,  but  flung  themselves  down  for  a  few 
hours'  rest.  The  chase  was  hopeless  anyway, 
for  the  search-party  had  gone  north  in  the 
night.  The  wounded  outlaw  had  doubtless 
heard  the  sheriff  talking  and,  the  coast  being 
clear  to  the  southward,  had  got  the  fresh 
horse  and  was  by  that  time  probably  safe  in 
the  heavy  forests  and  mountains  of  Utah. 
His  getting  in  with  N'Yawk  had  been  a 
daring  ruse,  but  a  successful  one.  Where  his 
partner  was,  no  one  could  guess.  But  by 
that  time  all  the  camp  excepting  Herman 
and  Mrs.  Louderer  were  so  panicky  that  we 
could  n't  have  made  a  rational  suggestion. 

N'Yawk,   white  around   his  mouth,   ap- 
proached Mrs.  Louderer.   "I  want  to  quit," 
he  said.   "Well,"  she  said,  calmly  sipping  her 
coffee,  "you  haf  done  it."    "I'm  sick,"  he 
178 


THE  HORSE-THIEVES 

stammered.  "I  know  you  iss,"  she  said,  "I 
haf  before  now  seen  men  get  sick  when  they 
iss  scared  to  death."  "My  old  daddy  — "  he 
began.  "Yes,  I  know,  he  waded  the  creek  vone 
time  und  you  has  had  cold  feet  effer  since." 

Poor  fellow,  I  felt  sorry  for  him.  I  had  cold 
feet  myself  just  then,  and  I  was  powerfully 
anxious  to  warm  them  by  my  own  fire  where 
a  pair  of  calm  blue  eyes  would  reassure  me. 

I  did  n't  get  to  see  the  branding  that  was 
to  have  taken  place  on  the  range  that  day. 
The  boss  insisted  on  taking  the  trail  of 
his  valued  horse.  He  was  very  angry.  He 
thought  there  was  a  traitor  among  the  posse. 
Who  started  the  firing  at  the  bridge  no  one 
knew,  and  Watson  said  openly  that  it  was 
done  to  get  the  sheriff  away  from  camp. 

My  own  home  looked  mighty  good  to  me 
when  we  drove  up  that  evening.  I  don't 
want  any  more  wild  life  on  the  range,  —  not 
for  a  while,  anyway. 

Your  ex-Washlady, 
ELINORE  RUPERT  STEWART. 


XVII 
AT  GAVOTTE'S  CAMP 

November  16,  1912. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  — 

At  last  I  can  write  you  as  I  want  to.  I  am 
afraid  you  think  I  am  going  to  wait  until  the 
"bairns"  are  grown  up  before  writing  to  my 
friends,  but  indeed  I  shall  not.  I  fully  intend 
to  "gather  roses  while  I  may."  Since  God 
has  given  me  two  blessings,  children  and 
friends,  I  shall  enjoy  them  both  as  I  go 
along. 

I  must  tell  you  why  I  have  not  written  as  I 
should  have  done.  All  summer  long  my  eyes 
were  so  strained  and  painful  that  I  had  to  let 
all  reading  and  writing  go.  And  I  have  suf- 
fered terribly  with  my  back.  But  now  I  am 
able  to  be  about  again,  do  most  of  my  own 
work,  and  my  eyes  are  much  better.  So  now 
I  shall  not  treat  you  so  badly  again.  If  you 
1 80 


AT  GAVOTTE'S  CAMP 

could  only  know  how  kind  every  one  is  to  me, 
you  would  know  that  even  ill  health  has  its 
compensations  out  here.  Dear  Mrs.  Lou- 
derer,  with  her  goose-grease,  her  bread,  and 
her  delicious  "kuchens."  Mrs.  O'Shaugh- 
nessy,  with  her  cheery  ways,  her  tireless 
friendship,  and  willing,  capable  hands. 
Gavotte  even,  with  his  tidbits  of  game  and 
fish.  Dear  little  Cora  Belle  came  often  to  see 
me,  sometimes  bringing  me  a  little  of  Grand- 
pa's latest  cure,  which  I  received  on  faith, 
for,  of  course,  I  could  not  really  swallow  any 
of  it.  Zebbie's  nephew,  Parker  Carter,  came 
out,  spent  the  summer  with  him,  and  they 
have  now  gone  back  to  Yell  County,  leaving 
Gavotte  in  charge  again. 

Gavotte  had  a  most  interesting  and  pros- 
perous summer.  He  was  commissioned  by  a 
wealthy  Easterner  to  procure  some  fossils. 
I  had  had  such  a  confined  summer  that  Clyde 
took  me  out  to  Gavotte's  camp  as  soon  as  I 
was  able  to  sit  up  and  be  driven.  We  found 
him  away  over  in  the  bad  lands  camped  in  a 
181 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

fine  little  grove.  He  is  a  charming  man  to 
visit  at  any  time,  and  we  found  him  in  a  par- 
ticularly happy  mood.  He  had  just  begun  to 
quarry  a  gigantic  find ;  he  had  piles  of  speci- 
mens; he  had  packed  and  shipped  some  rare 
specimens  of  fossil  plants,  but  his  "beeg 
find"  came  later  and  he  was  jubilant.  To 
dig  fossils  successfully  requires  great  care 
and  knowledge,  but  it  is  a  work  in  which 
Gavotte  excels.  He  is  a  splendid  cook.  I 
almost  believe  he  could  make  a  Johnny  Reb 
like  codfish,  and  that  night  we  had  a  delicious 
supper  and  all  the  time  listening  to  a  learned 
discourse  about  prehistoric  things.  I  enjoyed 
the  meal  and  I  enjoyed  the  talk,  but  I  could 
not  sleep  peacefully  for  being  chased  in 
my  dreams  by  pterodactyls,  dinosaurs,  and 
iguanodons,  besides  a  great  many  horrible 
creatures  whose  names  I  have  forgotten.  Of 
course,  when  the  ground  begins  to  freeze  and 
snow  comes,  fossil-mining  is  done  for  until 
summer  comes,  so  Gavotte  tends  the  critters 
and  traps  this  winter.  I  shall  not  get  to  go 
182 


AT  GAVOTTE'S  CAMP 

to  the  mountains  this  winter.  The  babies  are 
too  small,  but  there  is  always  some  happy 
and  interesting  thing  happening,  and  I  shall 
have  two  pleasures  each  time,  my  own  enjoy- 
ment, and  getting  to  tell  you  of  them. 


XVIII 

THE  HOMESTEADER'S  MARRIAGE  AND  A 
LITTLE  FUNERAL 

December  2,  1912. 
DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

Every  time  I  get  a  new  letter  from  you  I 
get  a  new  inspiration,  and  I  am  always  glad 
to  hear  from  you. 

I  have  often  wished  I  might  tell  you  all 
about  my  Clyde,  but  have  not  because  of 
two  things.  One  is  I  could  not  even  begin 
without  telling  you  what  a  good  man  he  is, 
and  I  did  n't  want  you  to  think  I  could  do 
nothing  but  brag.  The  other  reason  is  the 
haste  I  married  in.  I  am  ashamed  of  that. 
I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  a  Becky  Sharp 
of  a  person.  But  although  I  married  in 
haste,  I  have  no  cause  to  repent.  That  is 
very  fortunate  because  I  have  never  had  one 
bit  of  leisure  to  repent  in.  So  I  am  lucky  all 
184 


THE  HOMESTEADER'S  MARRIAGE 

around.  The  engagement  was  powerfully 
short  because  both  agreed  that  the  trend  of 
events  and  ranch  work  seemed  to  require 
that  we  be  married  first  and  do  our  "spark- 
ing" afterward.  You  see,  we  had  to  chink 
in  the  wedding  between  times,  that  is,  be- 
tween planting  the  oats  and  other  work  that 
must  be  done  early  or  not  at  all.  In  Wyo- 
ming ranchers  can  scarcely  take  time  even 
to  be  married  in  the  springtime.  That  hav- 
ing been  settled,  the  license  was  sent  for  by 
mail,  and  as  soon  as  it  came  Mr.  Stewart 
saddled  Chub  and  went  down  to  the  house  of 
Mr.  Pearson,  the  justice  of  the  peace  and  a 
friend  of  long  standing.  I  had  never  met  any 
of  the  family  and  naturally  rather  dreaded 
to  have  them  come,  but  Mr.  Stewart  was 
firm  in  wanting  to  be  married  at  home,  so 
he  told  Mr.  Pearson  he  wanted  him  and  his 
family  to  come  up  the  following  Wednesday 
and  serve  papers  on  the  "wooman  i'  the 
hoose."  They  were  astonished,  of  course, 
but  being  such  good  friends  they  promised 

185 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

him  all  the  assistance  they  could  render. 
They  are  quite  the  dearest,  most  interesting 
family!  I  have  since  learned  to  love  them 
as  my  own. 

Well,  there  was  no  time  to  make  wedding 
clothes,  so  I  had  to  "do  up"  what  I  did  have. 
Is  n't  it  queer  how  sometimes,  do  what  you 
can,  work  will  keep  getting  in  the  way  until 
you  can't  get  anything  done?  That  is  how 
it  was  with  me  those  few  days  before  the 
wedding;  so  much  so  that  when  Wednesday 
dawned  everything  was  topsy-turvy  and  I 
had  a  very  strong  desire  to  run  away.  But 
I  always  did  hate  a  "piker,"  so  I  stood  pat. 
Well,  I  had  most  of  the  dinner  cooked,  but  it 
kept  me  hustling  to  get  the  house  into  any- 
thing like  decent  order  before  the  old  dog 
barked,  and  I  knew  my  moments  of  liberty 
were  limited.  It  was  blowing  a  perfect  hur- 
ricane and  snowing  like  midwinter.  I  had 
bought  a  beautiful  pair  of  shoes  to  wear  on 
that  day,  but  my  vanity  had  squeezed  my 
feet  a  little,  so  while  I  was  so  busy  at  work  I 
186 


THE  HOMESTEADER'S  MARRIAGE 

had  kept  on  a  worn  old  pair,  intending  to  put 
on  the  new  ones  later ;  but  when  the  Pearsons 
drove  up  all  I  thought  about  was  getting 
them  into  the  house  where  there  was  fire,  so  I 
forgot  all  about  the  old  shoes  and  the  apron 
I  wore. 

I  had  only  been  here  six  weeks  then,  and 
was  a  stranger.  That  is  why  I  had  no  one  to 
help  me  and  was  so  confused  and  hurried. 
As  soon  as  the  newcomers  were  warm,  Mr. 
Stewart  told  me  I  had  better  come  over  by 
him  and  stand  up.  It  was  a  large  room  I  had 
to  cross,  and  how  I  did  it  before  all  those 
strange  eyes  I  never  knew.  All  I  can  remem- 
ber very  distinctly  is  hearing  Mr.  Stewart 
saying,  "I  will,"  and  myself  chiming  in  that 
I  would,  too.  Happening  to  glance  down,  I 
saw  that  I  had  forgotten  to  take  off  my  apron 
or  my  old  shoes,  but  just  then  Mr.  Pearson 
pronounced  us  man  and  wife,  and  as  I  had 
dinner  to  serve  right  away  I  had  no  time  to 
worry  over  my  odd  toilet.  Anyway  the  shoes 
were  comfortable  and  the  apron  white,  so  I 
187 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

suppose  it  could  have  been  worse ;  and  I  don't 
think  it  has  ever  made  any  difference  with 
the  Pearsons,  for  I  number  them  all  among 
my  most  esteemed  friends. 

It  is  customary  here  for  newlyweds  to  give 
a  dance  and  supper  at  the  hall,  but  as  I  was 
a  stranger  I  preferred  not  to,  and  so  it  was  a 
long  time  before  I  became  acquainted  with 
all  my  neighbors.  I  had  not  thought  I  should 
ever  marry  again.  Jerrine  was  always  such 
a  dear  little  pal,  and  I  wanted  to  just  knock 
about  foot-loose  and  free  to  see  life  as  a 
gypsy  sees  it.  I  had  planned  to  see  the  Cliff- 
Dwellers'  home;  to  live  right  there  until  I 
caught  the  spirit  of  the  surroundings  enough 
to  live  over  their  lives  in  imagination  any- 
way. I  had  planned  to  see  the  old  missions 
and  to  go  to  Alaska;  to  hunt  in  Canada.  I 
even  dreamed  of  Honolulu.  Life  stretched 
out  before  me  one  long,  happy  jaunt.  I  aimed 
to  see  all  the  world  I  could,  but  to  travel  un- 
known bypaths  to  do  it.  But  first  I  wanted 
to  try  homesteading. 

188 


THE  HOMESTEADER'S  MARRIAGE 

But  for  my  having  the  grippe,  I  should 
never  have  come  to  Wyoming.  Mrs.  Seroise, 
who  was  a  nurse  at  the  institution  for  nurses 
in  Denver  while  I  was  housekeeper  there,  had 
worked  one  summer  at  Saratoga,  Wyoming. 
It  was  she  who  told  me  of  the  pine  forests. 
I  had  never  seen  a  pine  until  I  came  to 
Colorado ;  so  the  idea  of  a  home  among  the 
pines  fascinated  me.  At  that  time  I  was 
hoping  to  pass  the  Civil-Service  examination, 
with  no  very  definite  idea  as  to  what  I  would 
do,  but  just  to  be  improving  my  time  and 
opportunity.  I  never  went  to  a  public  school 
a  day  in  my  life.  In  my  childhood  days  there 
was  no  such  thing  in  the  Indian  Territory 
part  of  Oklahoma  where  we  lived,  so  I  have 
had  to  try  hard  to  keep  learning.  Before  the 
time  came  for  the  examination  I  was  so  dis- 
couraged because  of  the  grippe  that  nothing 
but  the  mountains,  the  pines,  and  the  clean, 
fresh  air  seemed  worth  while;  so  it  all  came 
about  just  as  I  have  written  you. 

So  you  see  I  was  very  deceitful.  Do  you 
189 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

remember,  I  wrote  you  of  a  little  baby  boy 
dying?  That  was  my  own  little  Jamie,  our 
first  little  son.  For  a  long  time  my  heart  was 
crushed.  He  was  such  a  sweet,  beautiful  boy. 
I  wanted  him  so  much.  He  died  of  erysipelas. 
I  held  him  in  my  arms  till  the  last  agony  was 
over.  Then  I  dressed  the  beautiful  little 
body  for  the  grave.  Clyde  is  a  carpenter;  so 
I  wanted  him  to  make  the  little  coffin.  He 
did  it  every  bit,  and  I  lined  and  padded  it, 
trimmed  and  covered  it.  Not  that  we  could 
n't  afford  to  buy  one  or  that  our  neighbors 
were  not  all  that  was  kind  and  willing;  but 
because  it  was  a  sad  pleasure  to  do  every- 
thing for  our  little  first-born  ourselves. 

As  there  had  been  no  physician  to  help,  so 
there  was  no  minister  to  comfort,  and  I  could 
not  bear  to  let  our  baby  leave  the  world 
without  leaving  any  message  to  a  community 
that  sadly  needed  it.  His  little  message  to  us 
had  been  love,  so  I  selected  a  chapter  from 
John  and  we  had  a  funeral  service,  at  which 
all  our  neighbors  for  thirty  miles  around 
190 


THE  HOMESTEADER'S  MARRIAGE 

were  present.  So  you  see,  our  union  is  sealed 
by  love  and  welded  by  a  great  sorrow. 

Little  Jamie  was  the  first  little  Stewart. 
God  has  given  me  two  more  precious  little 
sons.  The  old  sorrow  is  not  so  keen  now.  I 
can  bear  to  tell  you  about  it,  but  I  never 
could  before.  When  you  think  of  me,  you 
must  think  of  me  as  one  who  is  truly  happy. 
It  is  true,  I  want  a  great  many  things  I  have 
n't  got,  but  I  don't  want  them  enough  to  be 
discontented  and  not  enjoy  the  many  bless- 
ings that  are  mine.  I  have  my  home  among 
the  blue  mountains,  my  healthy,  well-formed 
children,  my  clean,  honest  husband,  my  kind, 
gentle  milk  cows,  my  garden  which  I  make 
myself.  I  have  loads  and  loads  of  flowers 
which  I  tend  myself.  There  are  lots  of  chick- 
ens, turkeys,  and  pigs  which  are  my  own 
special  care.  I  have  some  slow  old  gentle 
horses  and  an  old  wagon.  I  can  load  up  the 
kiddies  and  go  where  I  please  any  time.  I 
have  the  best,  kindest  neighbors  and  I  have 
my  dear  absent  friends.  Do  you  wonder  I  am 
191 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

so  happy?  When  I  think  of  it  all,  I  wonder 
how  I  can  crowd  all  my  joy  into  one  short 
life.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  for  one 
moment  that  you  are  bothering  me  when  I 
write  you.  It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  do  so. 
You're  always  so  good  to  let  me  tell  you 
everything.  I  am  only  afraid  of  trying  your 
patience  too  far.  Even  in  this  long  letter  I 
can't  tell  you  all  I  want  to;  so  I  shall  write 
you  again  soon.  Jerrine  will  write  too.  Just 
now  she  has  very  sore  fingers.  She  has  been 
picking  gooseberries,  and  they  have  been 
pretty  severe  on  her  brown  little  paws. 
With  much  love  to  you,  I  am 
"Honest  and  truly"  yours, 

ELINORE  RUPERT  STEWART. 


XIX 

THE    ADVENTURE    OF    THE    CHRISTMAS    TREE 

January  6,  1913. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  — 

I  have  put  off  writing  you  and  thanking 
you  for  your  thought  for  us  until  now  so  that 
I  could  tell  you  of  our  very  happy  Christmas 
and  our  deer  hunt  all  at  once. 

To  begin  with,  Mr.  Stewart  and  Junior 
have  gone  to  Boulder  to  spend  the  winter. 
Clyde  wanted  his  mother  to  have  a  chance 
to  enjoy  our  boy,  so,  as  he  had  to  go,  he  took 
Junior  with  him.  Then  those  of  my  dear 
neighbors  nearest  my  heart  decided  to  pre- 
vent a  lonely  Christmas  for  me,  so  on  Decem- 
ber 2  ist  came  Mrs.  Louderer,  laden  with  an 
immense  plum  pudding  and  a  big  "wurst," 
and  a  little  later  came  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
on  her  frisky  pony,  Chief,  her  scarlet  sweater 
making  a  bright  bit  of  color  against  our  snow- 
193 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

wrapped  horizon.  Her  face  and  ways  are 
just  as  bright  and  cheery  as  can  be.  When 
she  saw  Mrs.  Louderer's  pudding  and  sau- 
sage she  said  she  had  brought  nothing  be- 
cause she  had  come  to  get  something  to  eat 
herself,  "and,"  she  continued,  "it  is  a  private 
opinion  of  mine  that  my  neighbors  are  so 
glad  to  see  me  that  they  are  glad  to  feed  me." 
Now  would  n't  that  little  speech  have  made 
her  welcome  anywhere? 

Well,  we  were  hilariously  planning  what 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  called  a  "widdy" 
Christmas  and  getting  supper,  when  a  great 
stamping-off  of  snow  proclaimed  a  new- 
comer. It  was  Gavotte,  and  we  were  power- 
fully glad  to  see  him  because  the  hired  man 
was  going  to  a  dance  and  we  knew  Gavotte 
would  contrive  some  unusual  amusement. 
He  had  heard  that  Clyde  was  going  to  have 
a  deer-drive,  and  did  n't  know  that  he  had 
gone,  so  he  had  come  down  to  join  the  hunt 
just  for  the  fun,  and  was  very  much  disap- 
pointed to  find  there  was  going  to  be  no  hunt. 
194 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

After  supper,  however,  his  good  humor  re- 
turned and  he  told  us  story  after  story  of  big 
hunts  he  had  had  in  Canada.  He  worked  up 
his  own  enthusiasm  as  well  as  ours,  and  at 
last  proposed  that  we  have  a  drive  of  our  own 
for  a  Christmas  "joy."  He  said  he  would 
take  a  station  and  do  the  shooting  if  one  of 
us  would  do  the  driving.  So  right  now  I 
reckon  I  had  better  tell  you  how  it  is  done. 

There  are  many  little  parks  in  the  moun- 
tains where  the  deer  can  feed,  although  now 
most  places  are  so  deep  in  snow  that  they 
can't  walk  in  it.  For  that  reason  they  have 
trails  to  water  and  to  the  different  feeding- 
grounds,  and  they  can't  get  through  the  snow 
except  along  these  paths.  You  see  how  easy 
it  would  be  for  a  man  hidden  on  the  trail  to 
get  one  of  the  beautiful  creatures  if  some  one 
coming  from  another  direction  startled  them 
so  that  they  came  along  that  particular  path. 

So  they  made  their  plans.  Mrs.  O'Shaugh- 
nessy  elected  herself  driver.  Two  miles  away 
is  a  huge  mountain  called  Phillipeco,  and 
195 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

deer  were  said  to  be  plentiful  up  there.  At 
one  time  there  had  been  a  sawmill  on  the 
mountain,  and  there  were  a  number  of  de- 
serted cabins  in  which  we  could  make  our- 
selves comfortable.  So  it  was  planned  that 
we  go  up  the  next  morning,  stay  all  night, 
have  the  hunt  the  following  morning,  and 
then  come  home  with  our  game. 

Well,  we  were  all  astir  early  the  next 
morning  and  soon  grain,  bedding,  and  chuck- 
box  were  in  the  wagon.  Then  Mrs.  Loud- 
erer,  the  kinder,  and  myself  piled  in;  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  bestrode  Chief,  Gavotte 
stalked  on  ahead  to  pick  our  way,  and  we 
were  off. 

It  was  a  long,  tedious  climb,  and  I  wished 
over  and  over  that  I  had  stayed  at  home; 
but  it  was  altogether  on  Baby's  account.  I 
was  so  afraid  that  he  would  suffer,  but  he 
kept  warm  as  toast.  The  day  was  beauti- 
ful, and  the  views  many  times  repaid  us  for 
any  hardship  we  had  suffered.  It  was  three 
o'clock  before  we  reached  the  old  mill  camp. 
196 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

Soon  we  had  a  roaring  fire,  and  Gavotte 
made  the  horses  comfortable  in  one  of  the 
cabins.  They  were  bedded  in  soft,  dry  saw- 
dust, and  were  quite  as  well  off  as  if  they  had 
been  in  their  own  stalls.  Then  some  rough 
planks  were  laid  on  blocks,  and  we  had  our 
first  meal  since  breakfast.  We  called  it  sup- 
per, and  we  had  potatoes  roasted  in  the 
embers,  Mrs.  Louderer's  wurst,  which  she 
had  been  calmly  carrying  around  on  her  arm 
like  a  hoop  and  which  was  delicious  with  the 
bread  that  Gavotte  toasted  on  long  sticks; 
we  had  steaming  coffee,  and  we  were  all 
happy;  even  Baby  clapped  his  hands  and 
crowed  at  the  unusual  sight  of  an  open  fire. 
After  supper  Gavotte  took  a  little  stroll  and 
returned  with  a  couple  of  grouse  for  our 
breakfast.  After  dark  we  sat  around  the  fire 
eating  peanuts  and  listening  to  Gavotte  and 
Mrs.  Louderer  telling  stories  of  their  differ- 
ent great  forests.  But  soon  Gavotte  took 
his  big  sleeping-bag  and  retired  to  another 
cabin,  warning  us  that  we  must  be  up  early. 
197 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Our  improvised  beds  were  the  most  comfort- 
able things ;  I  love  the  flicker  of  an  open  fire, 
the  smell  of  the  pines,  the  pure,  sweet  air, 
and  I  went  to  sleep  thinking  how  blest  I  was 
to  be  able  to  enjoy  the  things  I  love  most. 

It  seemed  only  a  short  time  until  some  one 
knocked  on  our  door  and  we  were  all  wide 
awake  in  a  minute.  The  fire  had  burned 
down  and  only  a  soft,  indistinct  glow  from 
the  embers  lighted  the  room,  while  through  a 
hole  in  the  roof  I  could  see  a  star  glimmering 
frostily.  It  was  Gavotte  at  the  door  and  he 
called  through  a  crack  saying  he  had  been 
hearing  queer  noises  for  an  hour  and  he  was 
going  to  investigate.  He  had  called  us  so 
that  we  need  not  be  alarmed  should  we  hear 
the  noise  and  not  find  him.  We  scrambled 
into  our  clothes  quickly  and  ran  outdoors  to 
listen. 

I  can  never  describe  to  you  the  weird 

beauty  of  a  moonlight  night  among  the  pines 

when  the  snow  is  sparkling  and  gleaming, 

the  deep  silence  unbroken  even  by  the  snap- 

198 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

ping  of  a  twig.  We  stood  shivering  and 
straining  our  ears  and  were  about  to  go  back 
to  bed  when  we  heard  faintly  a  long-drawn 
wail  as  if  all  the  suffering  and  sorrow  on 
earth  were  bound  up  in  that  one  sound.  We 
couldn't  tell  which  way  it  came  from;  it 
seemed  to  vibrate  through  the  air  and  chill 
our  hearts.  I  had  heard  that  panthers  cried 
that  way,  but  Gavotte  said  it  was  not  a 
panther.  He  said  the  engine  and  saws  had 
been  moved  from  where  we  were  to  another 
spring  across  the  canon  a  mile  away,  where 
timber  for  sawing  was  more  plentiful,  but  he 
supposed  every  one  had  left  the  mill  when 
the  water  froze  so  they  could  n't  saw.  He 
added  that  some  one  must  have  remained 
and  was,  perhaps,  in  need  of  help,  and  if  we 
were  not  afraid  he  would  leave  us  and  go  see 
what  was  wrong. 

We  went  in,  made  up  the  fire,  and  sat  in 

silence,  wondering  what  we  should  see  or 

hear  next.   Once  or  twice  that  agonized  cry 

came  shivering  through  the  cold  moonlight. 

199 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

After  an  age,  we  heard  Gavotte  crunching 
through  the  snow,  whistling  cheerily  to  re- 
assure us.  He  had  crossed  the  canon  to  the 
new  mill  camp,  where  he  had  found  two 
women,  loggers*  wives,  and  some  children, 
One  of  the  women,  he  said,  was  "so  vet'' 
seek,"  't  was  she  who  was  wailing  so,  and  it 
was  the  kind  of  "seek"  where  we  could  be 
of  every  help  and  comfort. 

Mrs.  Louderer  stayed  and  took  care  of  the 
children  while  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  and  I 
followed  after  Gavotte,  panting  and  stum- 
bling, through  the  snow.  Gavotte  said  he 
suspected  they  were  short  of  "needfuls,"  so 
he  had  filled  his  pockets  with  coffee  and 
sugar,  took  in  a  bottle  some  of  the  milk  I 
brought  for  Baby,  and  his  own  flask  of  whis- 
key, without  which  he  never  travels. 

At  last,  after  what  seemed  to  me  hours  of 
scrambling  through  the  snow,  through  deep- 
est gloom  where  pines  were  thickest,  and  out 
again  into  patches  of  white  moonlight,  we 
reached  the  ugly  clearing  where  the  new 
200 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

camp  stood.  Gavotte  escorted  us  to  the  door 
and  then  returned  to  our  camp.  Entering, 
we  saw  the  poor,  little  soon-to-be  mother 
huddled  on  her  poor  bed,  while  an  older 
woman  stood  near  warning  her  that  the  oil 
would  soon  be  all  gone  and  they  would  be  in 
darkness.  She  told  us  that  the  sick  one  had 
been  in  pain  all  the  day  before  and  much 
of  the  night,  and  that  she  herself  was  worn 
completely  out.  So  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  sent 
her  to  bed  and  we  took  charge. 

Secretly,  I  felt  it  all  to  be  a  big  nuisance 
to  be  dragged  out  from  my  warm,  comfort- 
able bed  to  traipse  through  the  snow  at  that 
time  of  the  night.  But  the  moment  poor  little 
Molly  spoke  I  was  glad  I  was  living,  because 
she  was  a  poor  little  Southern  girl  whose  hus- 
band is  a  Mormon.  He  had  been  sent  on  a 
mission  to  Alabama,  and  the  poor  girl  had 
fallen  in  love  with  his  handsome  face  and 
knew  nothing  of  Mormonism,  so  she  had  run 
away  with  him.  She  thought  it  would  be  so 
grand  to  live  in  the  glorious  West  with  so 
201 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

splendid  a  man  as  she  believed  her  husband 
to  be.  But  now  sne  believed  she  was  going 
to  die  and  she  was  glad  of  it  because  she 
could  not  return  to  her  "folks,"  and  she  said 
she  knew  her  husband  was  dead  because  he 
and  the  other  woman's  husband,  both  of 
whom  had  intended  to  stay  there  all  winter 
and  cut  logs,  had  gone  two  weeks  before  to 
get  their  summer's  wages  and  buy  supplies. 
Neither  man  had  come  back  and  there  was 
not  a  horse  or  any  other  way  to  get  out  of  the 
mountains  to  hunt  them,  so  they  believed 
the  men  to  be  frozen  somewhere  on  the  road. 
Rather  a  dismal  prospect,  was  n't  it?  Molly 
was  just  longing  for  some  little  familiar 
thing,  so  I  was  glad  I  have  not  yet  gotten  rid 
of  my  Southern  way  of  talking.  No  West- 
erner can  ever  understand  a  Southerner's 
need  of  sympathy,  and,  however  kind  their 
hearts,  they  are  unable  to  give  it.  Only  a 
Southerner  can  understand  how  dear  are  our 
peculiar  words  and  phrases,  and  poor  little 
Molly  took  new  courage  when  she  found  I 
202 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

knew  what  she  meant  when  she  said  she  was 
just  "honin'"  after  a  friendly  voice. 

Well,  soon  we  had  the  water  hot  and  had 
filled  some  bottles  and  placed  them  around 
our  patient,  and  after  a  couple  of  hours  the 
tiny  little  stranger  came  into  the  world.  It 
had  been  necessary  to  have  a  great  fire  in 
order  to  have  light,  so  as  soon  as  we  got 
Baby  dressed  I  opened  the  door  a  little  to 
cool  the  room  and  Molly  saw  the  morning 
star  twinkling  merrily.  "Oh,"  she  said, 
"that  is  what  I  will  call  my  little  girlie, — 
Star,  dear  little  Star." 

It  is  strange,  is  n't  it?  how  our  spirits  will 
revive  after  some  great  ordeal.  Molly  had 
been  sure  she  was  going  to  die  and  saw 
nothing  to  live  for;  now  that  she  had  had  a 
cup  of  hot  milk  and  held  her  red  little  baby 
close,  she  was  just  as  happy  and  hopeful  as 
if  she  had  never  left  her  best  friends  and 
home  to  follow  the  uncertain  fortunes  of 
young  Will  Crosby.  So  she  and  I  talked  of 
ash-hoppers,  smoke-houses,  cotton-patches, 
203 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

goobers,  poke-greens,  and  shoats,  until  she 
fell  asleep. 

Soon  day  was  abroad,  and  so  we  went  out- 
doors for  a  fresh  breath.  The  other  woman 
came  out  just  then  to  ask  after  Molly.  She 
invited  us  into  her  cabin,  and,  oh,  the  little 
Mormons  were  everywhere;  poor,  half-clad 
little  things!  Some  sour-dough  biscuit  and 
a  can  of  condensed  milk  was  everything  they 
had  to  eat.  The  mother  explained  to  us  that 
their  "men"  had  gone  to  get  things  for  them, 
but  had  not  come  back,  so  she  guessed  they 
had  got  drunk  and  were  likely  in  jail.  She 
told  it  in  a  very  unconcerned  manner.  Poor 
thing!  Years  of  such  experience  had  taught 
her  that  blessed  are  they  who  expect  nothing, 
for  they  shall  not  be  disappointed.  She  said 
that  if  Molly  had  not  been  sick  she  would 
have  walked  down  out  of  the  mountains  and 
got  help. 

Just  then  two  shots  rang  out  in  quick  suc- 
cession, and  soon  Gavotte  came  staggering 
along  with  a  deer  across  his  shoulders.  That 
204 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

he  left  for  the  family.  From  our  camp  he  had 
brought  some  bacon  and  butter  for  Molly, 
and,  poor  though  it  may  seem,  it  was  a  treat 
for  her.  Leaving  the  woman  to  dress  the 
venison  with  her  oldest  boy's  aid,  we  put  out 
across  the  canon  for  our  own  breakfast.  Be- 
side our  much-beaten  trail  hung  the  second 
venison,  and  when  we  reached  our  camp  and 
had  our  own  delicious  breakfast  of  grouse, 
bread,  butter,  and  coffee,  Gavotte  took 
Chub  and  went  for  our  venison.  In  a  short 
time  we  were  rolling  homeward.  Of  course  it 
did  n't  take  us  nearly  so  long  to  get  home 
because  it  was  downhill  and  the  road  was 
clearly  marked,  so  in  a  couple  of  hours  we 
were  home. 

Gavotte  knew  the  two  loggers  were  in 
Green  River  and  were  then  at  work  storing 
ice  for  the  railroad,  but  he  had  not  known 
that  their  wives  were  left  as  they  were.  The 
,men  actually  had  got  drunk,  lost  their 
money,  and  were  then  trying  to  replace  it. 
After  we  debated  a  bit  we  decided  we  could 
205 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

not  enjoy  Christmas  with  those  people  in 
want  up  there  in  the  cold.  Then  we  got  busy. 
It  is  sixty  miles  to  town,  although  our  near- 
est point  to  the  railroad  is  but  forty,  so  you 
see  it  was  impossible  to  get  to  town  to  get 
anything.  You  should  have  seen  us!  Every 
old  garment  that  had  ever  been  left  by  men 
who  have  worked  here  was  hauled  out,  and 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy's  deft  fingers  soon  had 
a  pile  of  garments  cut.  We  kept  the  machine 
humming  until  far  into  the  night,  as  long  as 
we  could  keep  our  eyes  open. 

All  next  day  we  sewed  as  hard  as  we  could, 
and  Gavotte  cooked  as  hard  as  he  could.  We 
had  intended  to  have  a  tree  for  Jerrine,  so  we 
had  a  box  of  candles  and  a  box  of  Christmas 
snow.  Gavotte  asked  for  all  the  bright  paper 
we  could  find.  We  had  lots  of  it,  and  I  think 
you  would  be  surprised  at  the  possibilities 
of  a  little  waste  paper.  He  made  gorgeous 
birds,  butterflies,  and  flowers  out  of  paper 
that  once  wrapped  parcels.  Then  he  asked 
us  for  some  silk  thread,  but  I  had  none,  so  he 
206 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

told  us  to  comb  our  hair  and  give  him  the 
combings.  We  did,  and  with  a  drop  of  muci- 
lage he  would  fasten  a  hair  to  a  bird's  back 
and  then  hold  it  up  by  the  hair.  At  a  few 
feet's  distance  it  looked  exactly  as  though 
the  bird  was  flying.  I  was  glad  I  had  a  big 
stone  jar  full  of  fondant,  because  we  had  a 
lot  of  fun  shaping  and  coloring  candies.  We 
offered  a  prize  for  the  best  representation  of 
a  "nigger,"  and  we  had  two  dozen  chocolate- 
covered  things  that  might  have  been  any- 
thing from  a  monkey  to  a  mouse.  Mrs. 
Louderer  cut  up  her  big  plum  pudding  and 
put  it  into  a  dozen  small  bags.  These 
Gavotte  carefully  covered  with  green  paper. 
Then  we  tore  up  the  holly  wreath  that  Aunt 
Mary  sent  me,  and  put  a  sprig  in  the  top  of 
each  green  bag  of  pudding.  I  never  had  so 
much  fun  in  my  life  as  I  had  preparing  for 
that  Christmas. 

At  ten  o'clock,  the  morning  of  the  24th, 
we  were  again  on  our  way  up  the  mountain- 
side.   We  took  shovels  so  we  could  clear  a 
207 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

road  if  need  be.  We  had  dinner  at  the  old 
camp,  and  then  Gavotte  hunted  us  a  way 
out  to  the  new,  and  we  smuggled  our  things 
into  Molly's  cabin  so  the  children  should 
have  a  real  surprise.  Poor,  hopeless  little 
things!  Theirs  was,  indeed,  a  dull  outlook. 

Gavotte  busied  himself  in  preparing  one 
of  the  empty  cabins  for  us  and  in  making 
the  horses  comfortable.  He  cut  some  pine 
boughs  to  do  that  with,  and  so  they  paid  no 
attention  when  he  cut  a  small  tree.  In  the 
mean  time  we  had  cleared  everything  from 
Molly's  cabin  but  her  bed ;  we  wanted  her  to 
see  the  fun.  The  children  were  sent  to  the 
spring  to  water  the  horses  and  they  were  all 
allowed  to  ride,  so  that  took  them  out  of  the 
way  while  Gavotte  nailed  the  tree  into  a  box 
he  had  filled  with  dirt  to  hold  it  steady. 

There  were  four  women  of  us,  and  Gavotte, 
so  it  was  only  the  work  of  a  few  moments 
to  get  the  tree  ready,  and  it  was  the  most 
beautiful  one  I  ever  saw.  Your  largest  bell, 
dear  Mrs.  Coney,  dangled  from  the  topmost 
208 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

branch.  Gavotte  had  attached  a  long,  stout 
wire  to  your  Santa  Claus,  so  he  was  able  to 
make  him  dance  frantically  without  seeming 
to  do  so.  The  hairs  that  held  the  birds  and 
butterflies  could  not  be  seen,  and  the  effect 
was  beautiful.  We  had  a  bucket  of  apples 
rubbed  bright,  and  these  we  fastened  to  the 
tree  just  as  they  grew  on  their  own  branches. 
The  puddings  looked  pretty,  too,  and  we  had 
done  up  the  parcels  that  held  the  clothes  as 
attractively  as  we  could.  We  saved  the  candy 
and  the  peanuts  to  put  in  their  little  stockings. 
As  soon  as  it  was  dark  we  lighted  the 
candles  and  then  their  mother  called  the 
children.  Oh,  if  you  could  have  seen  them! 
It  was  the  very  first  Christmas  tree  they  had 
ever  seen  and  they  did  n't  know  what  to  do. 
The  very  first  present  Gavotte  handed  out 
was  a  pair  of  trousers  for  eight-years-old 
Brig,  but  he  just  stood  and  stared  at  the  tree 
until  his  brother  next  in  size,  with  an  eye  to 
the  main  chance,  got  behind  him  and  pushed 
him  forward,  all  the  time  exclaiming,  "Go 
209 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

on,  can't  you!  They  ain't  doin'  nothin'  to 
you,  they's  just  doin'  somethin'  for  you." 
Still  Brig  would  not  put  out  his  hand.  He 
just  shook  his  tousled  sandy  head  and  said  he 
wanted  a  bird.  So  the  fun  kept  up  for  an  hour. 
Santa  had  for  Molly  a  package  of  oatmeal,  a 
pound  of  butter,  a  Mason  jar  of  cream,  and  a 
dozen  eggs,  so  that  she  could  have  suitable 
food  to  eat  until  something  could  be  done. 

After  the  presents  had  all  been  distributed 
we  put  the  phonograph  on  a  box  and  had 
a  dandy  concert.  We  played  "There  were 
Shepherds,"  "Ave  Maria,"  and  "Sweet 
Christmas  Bells."  Only  we  older  people 
cared  for  those,  so  then  we  had  "Arrah 
Wanna,"  "Silver  Bells,"  "Rainbow,"  "Red 
Wing,"  and  such  songs.  How  delighted  they 
were!  Our  concert  lasted  two  hours,  and  by 
that  time  the  little  fellows  were  so  sleepy  that 
the  excitement  no  longer  affected  them  and 
they  were  put  to  bed,  but  they  hung  up  their 
stockings  first,  and  even  Molly  hung  hers  up 
too.  We  filled  them  with  peanuts  and  candy, 

210 


CHRISTMAS  TREE  ADVENTURE 

putting  the  lion's  share  of  " niggers"  into 
Molly's  stocking. 

Next  morning  the  happiness  broke  out  in 
new  spots.  The  children  were  all  clean  and 
warm,  though  I  am  afraid  I  can't  brag  on  the 
fit  of  all  the  clothes.  But  the  pride  of  the 
wearers  did  away  with  the  necessity  of  a  fit. 
The  mother  was  radiantly  thankful  for  a 
warm  petticoat ;  that  it  was  made  of  a  blanket 
too  small  for  a  bed  did  n't  bother  her,  and 
the  stripes  were  around  the  bottom  anyway. 
Molly  openly  rejoiced  in  her  new  gown,  and 
that  it  was  made  of  ugly  gray  outing  flannel 
she  did  n't  know  nor  care.  Baby  Star  Crosby 
looked  perfectly  sweet  in  her  little  new 
clothes,  and  her  little  gown  had  blue  sleeves 
and  they  thought  a  white  skirt  only  added  to 
its  beauty.  And  so  it  was  about  everything. 
We  all  got  so  much  out  of  so  little.  I  will 
never  again  allow  even  the  smallest  thing 
to  go  to  waste.  We  were  every  one  just  as 
happy  as  we  could  be,  almost  as  delighted  as 
Molly  was  over  her  "niggers,"  and  there  was 

211 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

very  little  given  that  had  not  been  thrown 
away  or  was  not  just  odds  and  ends. 

There  was  never  anything  more  true  than 
that  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 
We  certainly  had  a  delicious  dinner  too,  and 
we  let  Molly  have  all  she  wanted  that  we 
dared  allow  her  to  eat.  The  roast  venison 
was  so  good  that  we  were  tempted  to  let  her 
taste  it,  but  we  thought  better,  of  that.  As 
soon  as  dinner  was  over  we  packed  our  be- 
longings and  betook  ourselves  homeward. 

It  was  just  dusk  when  we  reached  home. 
Away  off  on  a  bare  hill  a  wolf  barked.  A  big 
owl  hooted  lonesomely  among  the  pines,  and 
soon  a  pack  of  yelping  coyotes  went  scam- 
pering across  the  frozen  waste. 

It  was  not  the  Christmas  I  had  in  mind 
when  I  sent  the  card,  but  it  was  a  dandy  one, 
just  the  same. 

With  best  wishes  for  you  for  a  happy, 
happy  New  Year, 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT  STEWART. 


XX 

THE  JOYS  OF  HOMESTEADING 

January  23,  1913. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  — 

I  am  afraid  all  my  friends  think  I  am  very 
forgetful  and  that  you  think  I  am  ungrateful 
as  well,  but  I  am  going  to  plead  not  guilty. 
Right  after  Christmas  Mr.  Stewart  came 
down  with  la  grippe  and  was  so  miserable 
that  it  kept  me  busy  trying  to  relieve  him. 
Out  here  where  we  can  get  no  physician  we 
have  to  dope  ourselves,  so  that  I  had  to 
be  housekeeper,  nurse,  doctor,  and  general 
overseer.  That  explains  my  long  silence. 

And  now  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your 
kind  thought  in  prolonging  our  Christmas. 
The  magazines  were  much  appreciated.  They 
relieved  some  weary  night-watches,  and  the 
box  did  Jerrine  more  good  than  the  medicine 
I  was  having  to  give  her  for  la  grippe.  She 
213 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

was  content  to  stay  in  bed  and  enjoy  the 
contents  of  her  box. 

When  I  read  of  the  hard  times  among  the 
Denver  poor,'  I  feel  like  urging  them  every 
one  to  get  out  and  file  on  land.  I  am  very 
enthusiastic  about  women  homesteading.  It 
really  requires  less  strength  and  labor  to 
raise  plenty  to  satisfy  a  large  family  than  it 
does  to  go  out  to  wash,  with  the  added  satis- 
faction of  knowing  that  their  job  will  not  be 
lost  to  them  if  they  care  to  keep  it.  Even  if 
improving  the  place  does  go  slowly,  it  is  that 
much  done  to  stay  done.  Whatever  is  raised 
is  the  homesteader's  own,  and  there  is  no 
house-rent  to  pay.  This  year  Jerrine  cut  and 
dropped  enough  potatoes  to  raise  a  ton  of 
fine  potatoes.  She  wanted  to  try,  so  we  let 
her,  and  you  will  remember  that  she  is  but 
six  years  old.  We  had  a  man  to  break  the 
ground  and  cover  the  potatoes  for  her  and 
the  man  irrigated  them  once.  That  was  all 
that  was  done  until  digging  time,  when  they 
were  ploughed  out  and  Jerrine  picked  them 
214 


THE  JOYS  OF  HOMESTEADING 

up.  Any  woman  strong  enough  to  go  out  by 
the  day  could  have  done  every  bit  of  the 
work  and  put  in  two  or  three  times  that 
much,  and  it  would  have  been  so  much  more 
pleasant  than  to  work  so  hard  in  the  city 
and  then  be  on  starvation  rations  in  the 
winter. 

To  me,  homesteading  is  the  solution  of  all 
poverty's  problems,  but  I  realize  that  tem- 
perament has  much  to  do  with  success  in 
any  undertaking,  and  persons  afraid  of  coy- 
otes and  work  and  loneliness  had  better 
let  ranching  alone.  At  the  same  time,  any 
woman  who  can  stand  her  own  company, 
can  see  the  beauty  of  the  sunset,  loves  grow- 
ing things,  and  is  willing  to  put  in  as  much 
time  at  careful  labor  as  she  does  over  the 
wash  tub,  will  certainly  succeed;  will  have 
independence,  plenty  to  eat  all  the  time,  and 
a  home  of  her  own  in  the  end. 

Experimenting  need  cost  the  homesteader 
no  more  than  the  work,  because  by  applying 
to  the  Department  of  Agriculture  at  Wash- 
215 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

ington  he  can  get  enough  of  any  seed  and  as 
many  kinds  as  he  wants  to  make  a  thorough 
trial,  and  it  does  n't  even  cost  postage.  Also 
one  can  always  get  bulletins  from  there  and 
from  the  Experiment  Station  of  one's  own 
State  concerning  any  problem  or  as  many 
problems  as  may  come  up.  I  would  not,  for 
anything,  allow  Mr.  Stewart  to  do  anything 
toward  improving  my  place,  for  I  want  the 
fun  and  the  experience  myself.  And  I  want  to 
be  able  to  speak  from  experience  when  I  tell 
others  what  they  can  do.  Theories  are  very 
beautiful,  but  facts  are  what  must  be  had, 
and  what  I  intend  to  give  some  time. 

Here  I  am  boring  you  to  death  with  things 
that  cannot  interest  you!  You'd  think  I 
wanted  you  to  homestead,  would  n't  you? 
But  I  am  only  thinking  of  the  troops  of  tired, 
worried  women,  sometimes  even  cold  and 
hungry,  scared  to  death  of  losing  their  places 
to  work,  who  could  have  plenty  to  eat,  who 
could  have  good  fires  by  gathering  the  wood, 
and  comfortable  homes  of  their  own,  if  they 
216 


THE  JOYS  OF  HOMESTEADING 

but  had  the  courage  and  determination  to 
get  them. 

I  must  stop  right  now  before  you  get  so 
tired  you  will  not  answer.   With  much  love 
to  you  from  Jerrine  and  myself,  I  am 
Yours  affectionately, 

ELINORE  RUPERT  STEWART. 


XXI 

A   LETTER  OF   JERRINE's 

February  26,  1913. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

I  think  you  will  excuse  my  mama  for  not 
writing  to  thank  you  for  black  Beauty  when 
I  tell  you  why.  I  wanted  to  thank  you  my- 
self, and  I  wanted  to  hear  it  read  first  so  I 
could  very  trully  thank.  Mama  always  said 
horses  do  not  talk,  but  now  she  knows  they 
do  since  she  read  the  Dear  little  book.  I  have 
known  it  along  time.  My  own  pony  told  me 
the  story  is  very  true.  Many  times  I  have 
see  men  treat  horses  very  badly,  but  our 
Clyde  dont,  and  wont  let  a  workman  stay  if 
He  hurts  stock.  I  am  very  glad. 

Mr  Edding  came  past  one  day  with  a  load 

of  hay.  he  had  too  much  load  to  pull  up  hill 

and  there  was  much  ice  and  snow  but  he 

think  he  can  make  them  go  up  so  he  fighted 

218 


A  LETTER  OF  JERRINE'S 

and  sweared  but  they  could  not  get  up. 
Mama  tried  to  lend  him  some  horse  to  help 
but  he  was  angry  and  was  termined  to  make 
his  own  pull  it  but  at  last  he  had  to  take  off 
some  hay  I  wish  he  may  read  my  Black 
Beauty. 

Our  Clyde  is  still  away.  We  were  going  to 
visit  Stella.  Mama  was  driving,  the  horses 
raned  away.  We  goed  very  fast  as  the  wind. 
I  almost  fall  out  Mama  hanged  on  to  the 
lines,  if  she  let  go  we  may  all  be  kill.  At  last 
she  raned  them  into  a  fence,  they  stop  and  a 
man  ran  to  help  so  we  are  well  but  mama 
hands  and  arms  are  still  so  sore  she  cant 
write  you  yet.  My  brother  Calvin  is  very 
sweet.  God  had  to  give  him  to  us  because  he 
squealed  so  much  he  sturbed  the  angels.  We 
are  not  angels  so  he  Dont  sturb  us.  I  thank 
you  for  my  good  little  book,  and  I  love  you 
for  it  too. 

very  speakfully, 

JERRINE  RUPERT. 


XXII 

THE  EFFICIENT  MRS.    O'SHAUGHNESSY 

May  5,  1913. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  — 

Your  letter  of  April  25  certainly  was  a  sur- 
prise, but  a  very  welcome  one.  We  are  so 
rushed  with  spring  work  that  we  don't  even 
go  to  the  office  for  the  mail,  and  I  owe  you 
letters  and  thanks.  I  keep  promising  myself 
the  pleasure  of  writing  you  and  keep  putting 
it  off  until  I  can  have  more  leisure,  but  that 
time  never  gets  here.  I  am  so  glad  when  I 
can  bring  a  little  of  this  big,  clean,  beautiful 
outdoors  into  your  apartment  for  you  to  en- 
joy, and  I  can  think  of  nothing  that  would 
give  me  more  happiness  than  to  bring  the 
West  and  its  people  to  others  who  could  not 
otherwise  enjoy  them.  If  I  could  only  take 
them  from  whatever  is  worrying  them  and 
give  them  this  bracing  mountain  air,  glimpses 
220 


EFFICIENT  MRS.  O'SHAUGHNESSY 

of  the  scenery,  a  smell  of  the  pines  and  the 
sage,  —  if  I  could  only  make  them  feel  the  free, 
ready  sympathy  and  hospitality  of  these  fron- 
tier people,  I  am  sure  their  worries  would  di- 
minish and  my  happiness  would  be  complete. 
Little  Star  Crosby  is  growing  to  be  the 
sweetest  little  kid.  Her  mother  tells  me  that 
she  is  going  "back  yan"  when  she  gets  a 
"little  mo'  richer."  I  am  afraid  you  give  me 
too  much  credit  for  being  of  help  to  poor  little 
Molly.  It  was  n't  that  I  am  so  helpful,  but 
that  "fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to 
tread."  It  was  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  who  was 
the  real  help.  She  is  a  woman  of  great  cour- 
age and  decision  and  of  splendid  sense  and 
judgment.  A  few  days  ago  a  man  she  had 
working  for  her  got  his  finger-nail  mashed  off 
and  neglected  to  care  for  it.  Mrs.  O'Shaugh- 
nessy examined  it  and  found  that  gangrene 
had  set  n..  She  did  n't  tell  him,  but  made 
various  preparations  and  then  told  him  she 
had  heard  that  if  there  was  danger  of  blood- 
poisoning  it  would  show  if  the  finger  was 
221 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

placed  on  wood  and  the  patient  looked 
toward  the  sun.  She  said  the  person  who 
looked  at  the  finger  could  then  see  if  there 
was  any  poison.  So  the  man  placed  his  finger 
on  the  chopping-block  and  before  he  could 
bat  his  eye  she  had  chopped  off  the  black, 
swollen  finger.  It  was  so  sudden  and  unex- 
pected that  there  seemed  to  be  no  pain.  Then 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  showed  him  the  green 
streak  already  starting  up  his  arm.  The  man 
seemed  dazed  and  she  was  afraid  of  shock,  so 
she  gave  him  a  dose  of  morphine  and  whiskey. 
Then  with  a  quick  stroke  of  a  razor  she  laid 
open  the  green  streak  and  immersed  the 
whole  arm  in  a  strong  solution  of  bichloride 
of  mercury  for  twenty  minutes.  She  then 
dressed  the  wound  with  absorbent  cotton 
saturated  with  olive  oil  and  carbolic  acid, 
bundled  her  patient  into  a  buggy,  and  drove 
forty-five  miles  that  night  to  get  him  to  a  doc- 
tor. The  doctor  told  us  that  only  her  quick 
action  and  knowledge  of  what  to  do  saved 
the  man's  life. 

222 


EFFICIENT  MRS.  O'SHAUGHNESSY 

I  was  surprised  that  you  have  had  a  letter 
from  Jerrine.  I  knew  she  was  writing  to  you 
that  day,  but  I  was  feeling  very  stiff  and  sore 
from  the  runaway  and  had  lain  down.  She 
kept  asking  me  how  to  spell  words  until  I 
told  her  I  was  too  tired  and  wanted  to  sleep. 
While  I  was  asleep  the  man  came  for  the 
mail,  so  she  sent  her  letter.  I  have  your  ad- 
dress on  the  back  of  the  writing-pad,  so  she 
knew  she  had  it  right,  but  I  suspect  that  was 
all  she  had  right.  She  has  written  you  many 
letters  but  I  have  never  allowed  her  to  send 
them  because  she  misspells,  but  that  time  she 
stole  a  march  on  me.  The  books  you  sent 
her,  "Black  Beauty"  and  "Alice  in  Wonder- 
land," have  given  her  more  pleasure  than 
anything  she  has  ever  had.  She  just  loves 
them  and  is  saving  them,  she  says,  for  her 
own  little  girls.  She  is  very  confident  that 
the  stork  will  one  day  visit  her  and  leave  her 
a  "  very  many  "  little  girls.  They  are  to  be  of 
assorted  sizes.  She  says  she  can't  see  why  I 
order  all  my  babies  little  and  red  and  squally, 
223 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

—  says  she  thinks  God  had  just  as  soon  let 
me  have  larger  ones,  especially  as  I  get  so 
many  from  him. 

One  day  before  long  I  will  get  busy  and 
write  you  of  a  visit  I  shall  make  to  a  Mormon 
bishop's  household.  Polygamy  is  still  prac- 
ticed. 

Very  truly  your  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT  STEWART. 


XXIII 

HOW   IT  HAPPENED 

June  12,  1913. 
DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  — 

Your  letter  of  the  8th  to  hand,  and  in  order 
to  catch  you  before  you  leave  I  '11  answer  at 
once  and  not  wait  for  time.  I  always  think  I 
shall  do  better  with  more  time,  but  with  three 
"bairns,"  garden,  chickens,  cows,  and  house- 
work I  don't  seem  to  find  much  time  for 
anything.  Now  for  the  first  question.  My 
maiden  name  was  Pruitt,  so  when  I  am  put- 
ting on  airs  I  sign  Elinore  Pruitt  Stewart.  I 
don't  think  I  have  ever  written  anything  that 
Clyde  would  object  to,  so  he  can  still  stay  on 
the  pedestal  Scotch  custom  puts  him  upon  and 
remain  "the  Stewart."  Indeed,  I  don't  think 
you  are  too  inquisitive,  and  I  am  glad  to 
tell  you  how  I  happened  to  meet  the  "gude 


mon." 


225 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

It  all  happened  because  I  had  a  stitch  in 
my  side.  When  I  was  housekeeper  at  the 
Nursery,  I  also  had  to  attend  to  the  furnace, 
and,  strange  but  true,  the  furnace  was  built 
across  the  large  basement  from  where  the 
coal  was  thrown  in,  so  I  had  to  tote  the  coal 
over,  and  my  modus  operandi  was  to  fill  a  tub 
with  coal  and  then  drag  it  across  to  the  hun- 
gry furnace.  Well,  one  day  I  felt  the  catch 

and  got  no  better  fast.    After  Dr.  F 

punched  and  prodded,  she  said,  "Why,  you 
have  the  grippe."  Rev.  Father  Corrigan  had 
been  preparing  me  to  take  the  Civil-Service 
examination,  and  that  afternoon  a  lesson 
was  due,  so  I  went  over  to  let  him  see  how 
little  I  knew.  I  was  in  pain  and  was  so  blue 
that  I  could  hardly  speak  without  weeping,  so 
I  told  the  Reverend  Father  how  tired  I  was  of 
the  rattle  and  bang,  of  the  glare  and  the  soot, 
the  smells  and  the  hurry.  I  told  him  what  I 
longed  for  was  the  sweet,  free  open,  and  that 
I  would  like  to  homestead.  That  was  Satur- 
day evening.  He  advised  me  to  go  straight 
226 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED 

uptown  and  put  an  "ad"  in  the  paper,  so  as 
to  get  it  into  the  Sunday  paper.  I  did  so,  and 
because  I  wanted  as  much  rest  and  quiet  as 
possible  I  took  Jerrine  and  went  uptown  and 
got  a  nice  quiet  room. 

On  the  following  Wednesday  I  received  a 
letter  from  Clyde,  who  was  in  Boulder  visit- 
ing his  mother.  He  was  leaving  for  Wyoming 
the  following  Saturday  and  wanted  an  inter- 
view, if  his  proposition  suited  me.  I  was  so 
glad  of  his  offer,  but  at  the  same  time  I  could 
n't  know  what  kind  of  person  he  was;  so,  to 
lessen  any  risk,  I  asked  him  to  come  to  the 
Sunshine  Mission,  where  Miss  Ryan  was 
going  to  help  me  "size  him  up."  He  did  n't 
know  that  part  of  it,  of  course,  but  he  stood 
inspection  admirably.  I  was  under  the  im- 
pression he  had  a  son,  but  he  had  n't,  and 
he  and  his  mother  were  the  very  last  of  their 
race.  I  am  as  proud  and  happy  to-day  as  I 
was  the  day  I  became  his  wife.  I  wish  you 
knew  him,  but  I  suspect  I  had  better  not 
brag  too  much,  lest  you  think  me  not  quite 
227 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

sincere.  He  expected  to  visit  you  while  he 
was  in  Boulder.  He  went  to  the  Stock  Show, 
but  was  with  a  party,  so  he  planned  to  go 
again.  But  before  he  could,  the  man  he  left 
here,  and  whom  I  dismissed  for  drunkenness, 
went  to  Boulder  and  told  him  I  was  alone,  so 
the  foolish  thing  hurried  home  to  keep  me 
from  too  hard  work.  So  that  is  why  he  was 
disappointed. 

Junior  can  talk  quite  well,  and  even  Calvin 
jabbers.  The  children  are  all  well,  and  Jer- 
rine  writes  a  little  every  day  to  you.  I  have 
been  preparing  a  set  of  indoor  outings  for 
invalids.  Your  telling  me  your  invalid  friends 
enjoyed  the  letters  suggested  the  idea.  I 
thought  to  write  of  little  outings  I  take  might 
amuse  them,  but  wanted  to  write  just  as  I 
took  the  little  trips,  while  the  impressions 
were  fresh ;  that  is  why  I  have  not  sent  them 
before  now.  Is  it  too  late?  Shall  I  send  them 
to  you?  Now  this  is  really  not  a  letter;  it  is 
just  a  reply.  I  must  say  good-night;  it  is 
twelve  o'clock,  and  I  am  so  sleepy. 
228 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED 

I  do  hope  you  will  have  a  very  happy  sum- 
mer, and  that  you  will  share  your  happiness 
with  me  in  occasional  letters. 
With  much  love, 

ELINORE  STEWART. 

In  writing  I  forgot  to  say  that  the  Rever- 
end Father  thought  it  a  good  plan  to  get  a 
position  as  housekeeper  for  some  rancher 
who  would  advise  me  about  land  and  water 
rights.  By  keeping  house,  he  pointed  out,  I 
could  have  a  home  and  a  living  and  at  the 
same  time  see  what  kind  of  a  homestead  I 
could  get. 


XXIV 

A   LITTLE   ROMANCE 

October  8,  1913. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  - 

I  have  had  such  a  happy  little  peep  into 
another's  romance  that  I  think  I  should  be 
cheating  you  if  I  did  n't  tell  you.  Help  in 
this  country  is  extremely  hard  to  get ;  so  when 
I  received  a  letter  from  one  Aurelia  Tim- 
mons,  saying  she  wanted  a  job,  —  three  dol- 
lars a  week  and  not  to  be  called  "Relie,"  — 
my  joy  could  hardly  be  described.  I  could 
hardly  wait  until  morning  to  start  for  Bridger 
Bench,  where  Aurelia  held  forth.  I  was  up 
before  the  lark  next  morning.  It  is  more 
miles  to  the  Bridger  Bench  country  than  the 
"gude  mon"  wants  his  horses  driven  in  a 
day;  so  permission  was  only  given  after  I 
promised  to  curb  my  impatience  and  stay 
overnight  with  Mrs.  Louderer.  Under  ordi- 
230 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

nary  circumstances  that  would  have  been  a 
pleasure,  but  I  knew  at  least  a  dozen  women 
who  would  any  of  them  seize  on  to  Aurelia 
and  wrest  her  from  me,  so  it  was  only  after  it 
seemed  I  would  not  get  to  go  at  all  that  I 
promised. 

At  length  the  wagon  was  greased,  some 
oats  put  in,  a  substantial  lunch  and  the  kid- 
dies loaded  in,  and  I  started  on  my  way. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  prospect  of  getting  help 
that  gilded  everything  with  a  new  beauty. 
The  great  mountains  were  so  majestic,  and 
the  day  so  young  that  I  knew  the  night  wind 
was  still  murmuring  among  the  pines  far  up 
on  the  mountain-sides.  The  larks  were  trying 
to  outdo  each  other  and  the  robins  were  so 
saucy  that  I  could  almost  have  flicked  them 
with  the  willow  I  was  using  as  a  whip.  The 
rabbit-bush  made  golden  patches  every- 
where, while  purple  asters  and  great  pink 
thistles  lent  their  charm.  Going  in  that  direc- 
tion, our  way  lay  between  a  mountain  stream 
and  the  foothills.  There  are  many  ranches 
231 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

along  the  stream,  and  as  we  were  out  so  early, 
we  could  see  the  blue  smoke  curling  from 
each  house  we  passed.  We  knew  that  venison 
steak,  hot  biscuit,  and  odorous  coffee  would 
soon  grace  their  tables.  We  had  not  had  the 
venison,  for  the  "gude  mon"  holds  to  the 
letter  of  the  law  which  protects  deer  here, 
but  we  begrudged  no  one  anything ;  we  were 
having  exactly  what  we  wanted.  We  jogged 
along  happily,  if  slowly,  for  I  must  explain 
to  you  that  Chub  is  quite  the  laziest  horse 
in  the  State,  and  Bill,  his  partner,  is  so  old  he 
stands  like  a  bulldog.  He  is  splay-footed  and 
sway-backed,  but  he  is  a  beloved  member  of 
our  family,  so  I  vented  my  spite  on  Chub,  and 
the  willow  descended  periodically  across  his 
black  back,  I  guess  as  much  from  force  of 
habit  as  anything  else.  But  his  hide  is  thick 
and  his  memory  short,  so  we  broke  no  record 
that  day. 

We  drove  on  through  the  fresh  beauty  of 
the  morning,  and  when  the  sun  was  straight 
overhead  we  came  to  the  last  good  water  we 
232 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

could  expect  before  we  reached  Mrs.  Loud- 
erer's;  so  we  stopped  for  lunch.  In  Wyoming 
quantity  has  a  great  deal  more  to  do  with 
satisfaction  than  does  quality;  after  half  a 
day's  drive  you  won't  care  so  much  what  it  is 
you're  going  to  eat  as  you  will  that  there  is 
enough  of  it.  That  is  a  lesson  I  learned  long 
ago;  so  our  picnic  was  real.  There  were  no 
ants  in  the  pie,  but  that  is  accounted  for  by 
there  being  no  pie.  Our  road  had  crossed  the 
creek,  and  we  were  resting  in  the  shade  of  a 
quaking-asp  grove,  high  up  on  the  sides  of 
the  Bad  Land  hills.  For  miles  far  below  lay 
the  valley  through  which  we  had  come. 

Farther  on,  the  mountains  with  their  dense 
forests  were  all  wrapped  in  the  blue  haze  of 
the  melancholy  days.  Soon  we  quitted  our  en- 
chanted grove  whose  quivering,  golden  leaves 
kept  whispering  secrets  to  us. 

About  three  o'clock  we  came  down  out  of 
the  hills  on  to  the  bench  on  which  the  Loud- 
erer  ranch  is  situated.  Perhaps  I  should  ex- 
plain that  this  country  is  a  series  of  huge  ter- 
233 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

races,  each  terrace  called  a  bench.  I  had  just 
turned  into  the  lane  that  leads  to  the  house 
when  a  horseman  came  cantering  toward  me. 
"Hello!"  he  saluted,  as  he  drew  up  beside 
the  wagon.  "Coin*  up  to  the  house?  Better 
not.  Mrs.  Louderer  is  not  at  home,  and 
there's  no  one  there  but  Greasy  Pete.  He's 
on  a  tear;  been  drunk  two  days,  I'm  tellin' 
you.  He's  full  of  mischief.  'T  ain't  safe 
around  old  Greasy.  I  advise  you  to  go  some- 
'eres  else."  "Well,"  I  asked,  "where  can  I 
go?"  "Danged  if  I  know,"  he  replied,  '"les- 
sen it 's  to  Kate  Higbee's.  She  lives  about 
six  or  seven  miles  west.  She  ain't  been  here 
long,  but  I  guess  you  can't  miss  her  place. 
Just  jog  along  due  west  till  you  get  to  Red 
Gulch  ravine,  then  turn  north  for  a  couple 
of  miles.  You  '11  see  her  cabin  up  against  a 
cedar  ridge.  Well,  so  'long!"  He  dug  his 
spurs  into  his  cayuse's  side  and  rode  on. 

Tears  of  vexation  so  blinded  me  that  I 
could  scarcely  see  to  turn  the  team,  but  omi- 
nous sounds  and  wild  yells  kept  coming  from 
234 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

the  house,  so  I  made  what  haste  I  could  to 
get  away  from  such  an  unpleasant  neighbor- 
hood. Soon  my  spirits  began  to  rise.  Kate 
Higbee,  I  reflected,  was  likely  to  prove  to  be 
an  interesting  person.  All  Westerners  are 
likable,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Greasy 
Pete.  I  rather  looked  forward  to  my  visit. 
But  my  guide  had  failed  to  mention  the 
buttes;  so,  although  I  jogged  as  west  as  I 
knew  how,  I  found  I  had  to  wind  around  a 
butte  about  ever  so  often.  I  crossed  a  ravine 
with  equal  frequency,  and  all  looked  alike. 
It  is  not  surprising  that  soon  I  could  not 
guess  where  I  was.  We  could  turn  back  and 
retrace  our  tracks,  but  actual  danger  lay 
there;  so  it  seemed  wiser  to  push  on,  as  there 
was,  perhaps,  no  greater  danger  than  discom- 
fort ahead.  The  sun  hung  like  a  big  red  ball 
ready  to  drop  into  the  hazy  distance  when 
we  came  clear  of  the  buttes  and  down  on  to 
a  broad  plateau,  on  which  grass  grew  plen- 
tifully. That  encouraged  me  because  the 
horses  need  not  suffer,  and  if  I  could  make 
235 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

the  scanty  remnant  of  our  lunch  do  for  the 
children's  supper  and  breakfast,  we  could 
camp  in  comfort,  for  we  had  blankets.  But 
we  must  find  water.  I  stood  up  in  the  wagon 
and,  shading  my  eyes  against  the  sun's  level 
light,  was  looking  out  in  the  most  promising 
directions  when  I  noticed  that  the  plateau's 
farther  side  was  bounded  by  a  cedar  ridge, 
and,  better  yet,  a  smoke  was  slowly  rising, 
column-like,  against  the  dun  prospect.  That, 
I  reasoned,  must  be  my  destination.  Even 
the  horses  livened  their  paces,  and  in  a  little 
while  we  were  there. 

But  no  house  greeted  our  eyes,  —  just  a  big 
camp-fire.  A  lean  old  man  sat  on  a  log-end 
and  surveyed  us  indifferently.  On  the  ground 
lay  a  large  canvas-covered  pack,  apparently 
unopened.  An  old  saddle  lay  up  against  a 
cedar-trunk.  Two  old  horses  grazed  near. 
I  was  powerfully  disappointed.  You  know 
misery  loves  company;  so  I  ventured  to  say, 
"  Good-evening."  He  did  n't  stir,  but  he 
grunted,  "  Hello."  I  knew  then  that  he  was 
236 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

not  a  fossil,  and  hope  began  to  stir  in  my 
heart.  Soon  he  asked,  "Are  you  goin'  some- 
wheres  or  jist  travelin'?"  I  told  him  I  had 
started  somewhere,  but  reckoned  I  must  be 
traveling,  as  I  had  not  gotten  there.  Then  he 
said,  "My  name  is  Hiram  K.  Hull.  Whose 
woman  are  you?"  I  confessed  to  belonging 
to  the  house  of  Stewart.  "Which  Stewart?" 
he  persisted,—  "C.  R.,  S.  W.,  or  H.  C.?" 
Again  I  owned  up  truthfully.  "Well,"  he 
continued,  "what  does  he  mean  by  letting 
you  gad  about  in  such  onconsequential 
style?" 

Sometimes  a  woman  gets  too  angry  to  talk. 
Don't  you  believe  that?  No?  Well,  they  do, 
I  assure  you,  for  I  was  then.  He  seemed 
grown  to  the  log.  As  he  had  made  no  move 
to  help  me,  without  answering  him  I  clam- 
bered out  of  the  wagon  and  began  to  take 
the  horses  loose.  "Ho!"  he  said;  "are  you 
goin'  to  camp  here?"  "Yes,  I  am,"  I 
snapped.  "Have  you  any  objections?" 
"Oh,  no,  none  that  won't  keep,"  he  assured 
237 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

me.  It  has  always  been  a  theory  of  mine  that 
when  we  become  sorry  for  ourselves  we  make 
our  misfortunes  harder  to  bear,  because  we 
lose  courage  and  can't  think  without  bias; 
so  I  cast  about  me  for  something  to  be  glad 
about,  and  the  comfort  that  at  least  we  were 
safer  with  a  simpleton  than  near  a  drunken 
Mexican  came  to  me ;  so  I  began  to  view  the 
situation  with  a  little  more  tolerance. 

After  attending  to  the  horses  I  began  to 
make  the  children  comfortable.  My  unwill- 
ing host  sat  silently  on  his  log,  drawing  long 
and  hard  at  his  stubby  old  pipe.  How  very 
little  there  was  left  of  our  lunch!  Just  for 
meanness  I  asked  him  to  share  with  us,  and, 
if  you'll  believe  me,  he  did.  He  gravely  ate 
bread-rims  and  scraps  of  meat  until  there  was 
not  one  bit  left  for  even  the  baby's  breakfast. 
Then  he  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
mouth  and  remarked,  "I  should  think  when 
you  go  off  on  a  ja'nt  like  this  you'd  have  a 
well-filled  mess-box."  Again  speech  failed 
me. 

238 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

Among  some  dwarf  willows  not  far  away 
a  spring  bubbled.  I  took  the  kiddies  there  to 
prepare  them  for  rest.  When  I  returned  to 
the  fire,  what  a  transformation!  The  pack 
was  unrolled  and  blankets  were  spread,  the 
fire  had  been  drawn  aside,  disclosing  a  bean- 
hole,  out  of  which  Hiram  K.  was  lifting  an 
oven.  He  took  off  the  lid.  Two  of  the  plump- 
est, brownest  ducks  that  ever  tempted  any 
one  were  fairly  swimming  in  gravy.  Two 
loaves  of  what  he  called  punk,  with  a  box  of 
crackers,  lay  on  a  newspaper.  He  mimicked 
me  exactly  when  he  asked  me  to  take  supper 
with  him,  and  I  tried  hard  to  imitate  him  in 
promptitude  when  I  accepted.  The  babies 
had  some  of  the  crackers  wet  with  hot  water 
and  a  little  of  the  gravy.  We  soon  had  the 
rest  looking  scarce.  The  big  white  stars  were 
beginning  to  twinkle  before  we  were  through, 
but  the  camp-fire  was  bright,  and  we  all  felt 
better-natured.  Men  are  not  alone  in  having 
a  way  to  their  heart  through  their  stomach. 

I  made  our  bed  beneath  the  wagon,  and 
239 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

Hiram  K.  fixed  his  canvas  around,  so  we 
should  be  sheltered.  I  felt  so  much  better 
and  thought  so  much  better  of  him  that  I 
could  laugh  and  chat  gayly.  "Now,  tell  me," 
he  asked,  as  he  fastened  the  canvas  to  a  wheel, 
"didn't  you  think  I  was  an  old  devil  at 
first?"  "Yes,  I  did,"  I  answered.  "Well," 
he  said,  "  I  am;  so  you  guessed  right."  After 
I  put  the  children  to  bed,  we  sat  by  the  fire 
and  talked  awhile.  I  told  him  how  I  hap- 
pened to  be  gadding  about  in  "such  oncon- 
sequential"  style,  and  he  told  me  stories  of 
when  the  country  was  new  and  fit  to  live  in. 
"Why,"  he  said,  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm, 
"time  was  once  when  you  went  to  bed  you 
were  not  sure  whether  you  'd  get  up  alive  and 
with  your  scalp  on  or  not,  the  Injins  were 
that  thick.  And  then  there  was  white  men  a 
durned  sight  worse;  they  were  likely  to  plug 
you  full  of  lead  just  to  see  you  kick.  But 
now," he  continued  mournfully,  "a  bear  or  an 
antelope,  maybe  an  elk,  is  about  all  the  ex- 
citement we  can  expect.  Them  good  old  days 
240 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

are  gone."  I  am  mighty  glad  of  it ;  a  drunken 
Pete  is  bad  enough  for  me. 

I  was  tired,  so  soon  I  went  to  bed.  I  could 
hear  him  as  he  cut  cedar  boughs  for  his  own 
fireside  bed,  and  as  he  rattled  around  among 
his  pots  and  pans.  Did  you  ever  eat  pork  and 
beans  heated  in  a  frying-pan  on  a  camp-fire 
for  breakfast?  Then  if  you  have  not,  there  is 
one  delight  left  you.  But  you  must  be  away 
out  in  Wyoming,  with  the  morning  sun  just 
gilding  the  distant  peaks,  and  your  pork  and 
beans  must  be  out  of  a  can,  heated  in  a  dis- 
reputable old  frying-pan,  served  with  coffee 
boiled  in  a  battered  old  pail  and  drunk  from  a 
tomato-can.  You'll  never  want  iced  melons, 
powdered  sugar,  and  fruit,  or  sixty-nine  vari- 
eties of  breakfast  food,  if  once  you  sit  Trilby- 
wise  on  Wyoming  sand  and  eat  the  kind  of 
breakfast  we  had  that  day. 

After  breakfast  Hiram  K.  Hull  hitched  our 

horses  to  the  wagon,   got  his  own  horses 

ready,  and  then  said,  "  fT  ain't  more'n  half  a 

mile  straight  out  between  them  two  hills  to 

241 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

the  stage-road,  but  I  guess  I  had  better  go 
and  show  you  exactly,  or  you  will  be  millin* 
around  here  all  day,  try  in'  to  find  it."  In  a 
very  few  minutes  we  were  on  the  road,  and 
our  odd  host  turned  to  go.  "S'long!"  he 
called.  "Tell  Stewart  you  seen  old  Hikum. 
Him  and  me's  shared  tarps  many's  the 
nights.  We  used  to  be  punchers  together, 
—  old  Clyde  and  me.  Tell  him  old  Hikum 
ain't  forgot  him."  So  saying,  he  rode  away 
into  the  golden  morning,  and  we  drove  on- 
ward, too. 

We  stopped  for  lunch  only  a  few  minutes 
that  day,  and  we  reached  the  Bridger  com- 
munity about  two  that  afternoon.  The  much 
sought  Aurelia  had  accepted  the  position  of 
lifetime  housekeeper  for  a  sheep-herder  who 
had  no  house  to  keep,  so  I  had  to  cast  about 
for  whatever  comfort  I  could.  The  roadhouse 
is  presided  over  by  a  very  able  body  of  the 
clan  of  Ferguson.  I  had  never  met  her,  but 
formalities  count  for  very  little  in  the  West. 
She  was  in  her  kitchen,  having  more  trouble, 
242 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

she  said,  than  a  hen  whose  ducklings  were  in 
swimming.  I  asked  her  if  she  could  accom- 
modate the  children  and  myself.  "  Yes,"  she 
said,  "I  can  give  you  a  bed  and  grub,  but  I 
ain't  got  no  time  to  ask  you  nothing.  I  ain't 
got  no  time  to  inquire  who  you  are  nor  where 
you  come  from.  There 's  one  room  left.  You 
can  have  that,  but  you  '11  have  to  look  out  for 
yourself  and  young  'uns. ' '  I  felt  equal  to  that ; 
so  I  went  out  to  have  the  horses  cared  for  and 
to  unload  the  kiddies. 

Leaning  against  the  wagon  was  a  man  who 
made  annual  rounds  of  all  the  homes  in  our 
community  each  summer;  his  sole  object  was 
to  see  what  kind  of  flowers  we  succeeded 
with.  Every  woman  in  our  neighborhood 
knows  Bishey  Bennet,  but  I  don't  think 
many  would  have  recognized  him  that  after- 
noon. I  had  never  seen  him  dressed  in  any- 
thing but  blue  denim  overalls  and  overshirt 
to  match,  but  to-day  he  proudly  displayed 
what  he  said  was  his  dove-colored  suit.  The 
style  must  have  been  one  of  years  ago,  for  I 
243 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

cannot  remember  seeing  trousers  quite  so 
skimpy.  He  wore  top-boots,  but  as  a  con- 
cession to  fashion  he  wore  the  boot-tops  un- 
der the  trouser-legs,  and  as  the  trousers  were 
about  as  narrow  as  a  sheath  skirt,  they  kept 
slipping  up  and  gave  the  appearance  of  be- 
ing at  least  six  inches  too  short.  Although 
Bishey  is  tall  and  thin,  his  coat  was  two  sizes 
too  small,  his  shirt  was  of  soft  tan  material, 
and  he  wore  a  blue  tie.  But  whatever  may 
have  been  amiss  with  his  costume  was  easily 
forgotten  when  one  saw  his  radiant  face.  He 
grasped  my  hand  and  wrung  it  as  if  it  was  a 
chicken's  neck. 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with 
you?"  I  asked,  as  I  rubbed  my  abused  paw. 
"Just  you  come  here  and  I'll  tell  you,"  he 
answered.  There  was  no  one  to  hear  but  the 
kiddies,  but  I  went  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  with  him.  He  put  his  hand  up  to  his 
mouth  and  whispered  that  "Miss  Em'ly" 
was  coming,  would  be  there  on  the  afternoon 
stage.  I  had  never  heard  of  "Miss  Em'ly," 
244 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

and  said  so.  "Well,  just  you  go  in  and  set  on 
the  sofy  and  soon's  I  see  your  horses  took 
care  of  I' 11  come  in  and  tell  you."  I  went  into 
my  own  room,  and  after  I  rustled  some  water 
I  made  myself  and  the  kiddies  a  little  more 
presentable.  Then  we  went  into  the  sitting- 
room  and  sat  on  the  "sofy."  Presently 
Bishey  sauntered  in,  trying  to  look  uncon- 
cerned and  at  ease,  but  he  was  so  fidgety  he 
could  n't  sit  down.  But  he  told  his  story,  and 
a  dear  one  it  is. 

It  seems  that  back  in  New  York  State  he 
and  Miss  Em'ly  were  "young  uns"  together. 
When  they  were  older  they  planned  to  marry, 
but  neither  wanted  to  settle  down  to  the 
humdrumness  that  they  had  always  known. 
Both  dreamed  of  the  golden  West ;  so  Bishey 
had  gone  to  blaze  the  trail,  and  "  Miss  Em'ly" 
was  to  follow.  First  one  duty  and  then  an- 
other had  held  her,  until  twenty-five  years 
had  slipped  by  and  they  had  not  seen  each 
other,  but  now  she  was  coming,  that  very 
day.  They  would  be  married  that  evening, 
245 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

and  I  at  once  appointed  myself  matron  of 
honor  and  was  plumb  glad  there  was  no  other 
candidate. 

I  at  once  took  the  decorations  in  hand. 
Bishey,  Jerrine,  and  myself  went  out  and 
gathered  armf uls  of  asters  and  goldenrod-like 
rabbit-brush.  From  the  dump-pile  we  sorted 
cans  and  pails  that  would  hold  water,  and 
we  made  the  sitting-room  a  perfect  bower  of 
purple  and  gold  beauty.  I  put  on  my  last 
clean  shirt-waist  and  the  children's  last  clean 
dresses.  Then,  as  there  seemed  nothing  more 
to  do,  Bishey  suggested  that  we  walk  up  the 
road  and  meet  the  stage;  but  the  day  had 
been  warm,  and  I  remembered  my  own  ap- 
pearance when  I  had  come  over  that  same 
road  the  first  time.  I  knew  that  journey  was 
trying  on  any  one's  appearance  at  any  time 
of  the  year,  and  after  twenty- five  years  to  be 
thrust  into  view  covered  with  alkali  dust  and 
with  one's  hat  on  awry  would  be  too  much 
for  feminine  patience;  so  I  pointed  out  to 
Bishey  that  he  'd  better  clear  out  and  let  Miss 
246 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

Em'ly  rest  a  bit  before  he  showed  up.  At 
last  he  reluctantly  agreed. 

I  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to  find  what 
could  be  expected  in  the  way  of  hot  water  for 
Miss  Em'ly  when  she  should  come.  I  found  I 
could  have  all  I  wanted  if  I  heated  it  myself. 
Mrs.  Ferguson  could  not  be  bothered  about 
it,  because  a  water  company  had  met  there 
to  vote  on  new  canals,  the  sheep-men  were 
holding  a  convention,  there  was  a  more  than 
usual  run  of  transients  besides  the  regular 
boarders,  and  supper  was  ordered  for  the 
whole  push.  All  the  help  she  had  was  a  girl 
she  just  knew  did  n't  have  sense  enough  to 
pound  sand  into  a  rat-hole.  Under  those 
circumstances  I  was  mighty  glad  to  help.  I 
put  water  on  to  heat  and  then  forgot  Miss 
Em'ly,  I  was  enjoying  helping  so  much,  until 
I  heard  a  door  slam  and  saw  the  stage  drive 
away  toward  the  barn. 

I  hastened  to  the  room  I  knew  was  re- 
served for  Miss  Em'ly.  I  rapped  on  the 
door,  but  it  was  only  opened  a  tiny  crack.  I 
247 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

whispered  through  that  I  was  a  neighbor- 
friend  of  Mr.  Bennet's,  that  I  had  lots  of  hot 
water  for  her  and  had  come  to  help  her  if 
I  might.  Then  she  opened  the  door,  and  I 
entered.  I  found  a  very  travel-stained  little 
woman,  down  whose  dust-covered  cheeks 
tears  had  left  their  sign.  Her  prettiness  was 
the  kind  that  wins  at  once  and  keeps  you  ever 
after.  She  was  a  strange  mixture  of  stiff  reti- 
cence and  childish  trust.  She  was  in  such  a 
flutter,  and  she  said  she  was  ashamed  to  own 
it,  but  she  was  so  hungry  she  could  hardly 
wait. 

After  helping  her  all  I  could,  I  ran  out  to 
see  about  the  wedding  supper  that  was  to  be 
served  before  the  wedding.  I  found  that  no 
special  supper  had  been  prepared.  It  seemed 
to  me  a  shame  to  thrust  them  down  among 
the  water  company,  the  convention,  the 
regulars,  and  the  transients,  and  I  mentally 
invited  myself  to  the  wedding  supper  and 
began  to  plan  how  we  could  have  a  little  pri- 
vacy. The  carpenters  were  at  work  on  a  long 
248 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

room  off  the  kitchen  that  was  to  be  used  as 
storeroom  and  pantry.  They  had  gone  for 
the  day,  and  their  saw-horses  and  benches 
were  still  in  the  room.  It  was  only  the  work 
of  a  moment  to  sweep  the  sawdust  away. 
There  was  only  one  window,  but  it  was  large 
and  in  the  west.  It  took  a  little  time  to  wash 
that,  but  it  paid  to  do  it.  When  a  few  asters 
and  sprays  of  rabbit-brush  were  placed  in 
a  broken  jar  on  the  window-sill,  there  was  a 
picture  worth  seeing.  Some  planks  were  laid 
on  the  saw-horses,  some  papers  over  them, 
and  a  clean  white  cloth  over  all.  I  sorted  the 
dishes  myself ;  the  prettiest  the  house  afforded 
graced  our  table.  I  rubbed  the  glassware 
until  it  shone  almost  as  bright  as  Bishey's 
smile. 

Bishey  had  come  when  he  could  stay  away 
no  longer;  he  and  Miss  Em'ly  had  had  their 
first  little  talk,  so  they  came  out  to  where  I 
was  laying  the  table.  They  were  both  beam- 
ing. Miss  Em'ly  took  hold  at  once  to  help. 
"Bishey,"  she  commanded,  "do  you  go  at 
249 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

once  to  where  my  boxes  are  open,  the  one 
marked  7;  bring  me  a  blue  jar  you'll  find  in 
one  corner."  He  went  to  do  her  bidding,  and 
I  to  see  about  the  kiddies.  When  I  came 
back  with  them,  there  was  a  small  willow 
basket  in  the  center  of  our  improvised  table, 
heaped  high  with  pears,  apples,  and  grapes 
all  a  little  the  worse  for  their  long  journey 
from  New  York  State  to  Wyoming,  but  still 
things  of  beauty  and  a  joy  as  long  as  they 
lasted  to  Wyoming  eyes  and  appetites.  We 
had  a  perfectly  roasted  leg  of  lamb;  we 
had  mint  sauce,  a  pyramid  of  flaky  mashed 
potatoes,  a  big  dish  of  new  peas,  a  plate  of 
sponge-cake  I  will  be  long  in  forgetting;  and 
the  blue  jar  was  full  of  grape  marmalade. 
Our  iced  tea  was  exactly  right;  the  pieces 
of  ice  clinked  pleasantly  against  our  glasses. 
We  took  our  time,  and  we  were  all  happy. 
We  could  all  see  the  beautiful  sunset,  its  last 
rays  lingering  on  Miss  Em'ly's  abundant 
auburn  hair  to  make  happy  the  bride  the  sun 
shines  on.  We  saw  the  wonderful  colors  — 
250 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

orange,  rose,  and  violet  —  creep  up  and  fade 
into  darker  shades,  until  at  last  mellow  dusk 
filled  the  room.  Then  I  took  the  kiddies  to 
my  room  to  be  put  to  bed  while  I  should  wait 
until  time  for  the  ceremony. 

Soon  the  babies  were  sleeping,  and  Jerrine 
and  I  went  into  the  sitting-room.  They  were 
sitting  on  the  "sofy."  She  was  telling  him 
that  the  apples  had  come  from  the  tree  they 
had  played  under,  the  pears  from  the  tree 
they  had  set  out,  the  grapes  from  the  vine 
over  the  well.  She  told  him  of  things  packed 
in  her  boxes,  everything  a  part  of  the  past 
they  both  knew.  He  in  turn  told  her  of  his 
struggles,  his  successes,  and  some  of  what  he 
called  his  failures.  She  was  a  most  encourag- 
ing little  person,  and  she'd  say  to  him,  "You 
did  well,  Bishey.  I'll  say  that  for  you:  you 
did  well!"  Then  he  told  her  about  the  flow- 
ers he  had  planted  for  her.  I  understood  then 
why  he  acted  so  queerly  about  my  flowers. 
It  happens  that  I  am  partial  to  old-time 
favorites,  and  I  grow  as  many  of  them  as  I 
251 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

can  get  to  succeed  in  this  altitude;  so  I  have 
zinnias,  marigolds,  hollyhocks,  and  many 
other  dear  old  flowers  that  my  mother  loved. 
Many  of  them  had  been  the  favorites  of  Miss 
Em'ly's  childhood,  but  Bishey  had  n't  re- 
membered the  names;  so  he  had  visited  us 
all,  and  when  he  found  a  flower  he  remem- 
bered, he  asked  the  name  and  how  we  grew 
it,  then  he  tried  it,  until  at  last  he  had  about 
all.  Miss  Em'ly  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes 
as  she  remarked,  "Bishey,  you  did  well;  yes, 
you  did  real  well."  I  thought  to  myself  how 
well  we  could  all  do  if  we  were  so  encour- 
aged. 

At  last  the  white-haired  old  justice  of  the 
peace  came,  and  said  the  words  that  made 
Emily  Wheeler  the  wife  of  Abisha  Bennet.  A 
powerfully  noisy  but  truly  friendly  crowd 
wished  them  well.  One  polite  fellow  asked 
her  where  she  was  from.  She  told  him  from 
New  York  State.  "Why,"  he  asked,  "do 
New  Yorkers  always  say  State  ?"  "  Why,  be- 
cause," she  answered,  —  and  her  eyes  were 
252 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

big  with  surprise,  —  "no  one  would  want  to 
say  they  were  from  New  York  City.'1 

It  had  been  a  trying  day  for  us,  so  soon 
Jerrine  and  I  slipped  out  to  our  room.  Ours 
was  the  first  room  off  the  sitting-room,  and  a 
long  hallway  led  past  our  door;  a  bench  sat 
against  the  wall,  and  it  seemed  a  favorite 
roosting-place  for  people  with  long  discus- 
sions. First  some  fellows  were  discussing  the 
wedding.  One  thought  Bishey  " cracked" 
because  he  had  shipped  out  an  old  cooking- 
stove,  one  of  the  first  manufactured,  all  the 
way  from  where  he  came  from,  instead  of 
buying  a  new  one  nearer  home.  They  re- 
called instance  after  instance  in  which  he  had 
acted  queerly,  but  to  me  his  behavior  was  no 
longer  a  mystery.  I  know  the  stove  belonged 
somewhere  in  the  past  and  that  his  every  act 
connected  past  and  future.  After  they  had 
talked  themselves  tired,  two  old  fellows  took 
possession  of  the  bench  and  added  a  long  dis- 
cussion on  how  to  grow  corn  to  the  general 
din.  Even  sweet  corn  cannot  be  successfully 
253 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

grown  at  this  altitude,  yet  those  old  men 
argued  pro  and  con  till  I  know  their  throats 
must  have  ached.  In  the  sitting-room  they 
all  talked  at  once  of  ditches,  water-contracts, 
and  sheep.  I  was  so  sleepy.  I  heard  a  tired 
clock  away  off  somewhere  strike  two.  Some 
sheep-men  had  the  bench  and  were  discussing 
the  relative  values  of  different  dips.  I  reckon 
my  ego  must  have  gotten  tangled  with  some 
one's  else  about  then,  for  I  found  myself 
sitting  up  in  bed  foolishly  saying,  - 

"Two  old  herders,  unshaved  and  hairy, 
Whose  old  tongues  are  never  weary, 
Just  outside  my  chamber-door 
Prate  of  sheep  dips  for  ever  more." 

Next  morning  it  was  Bishey's  cheerful 
voice  that  started  my  day.  I  had  hoped  to 
be  up  in  time  to  see  them  off,  but  I  was  n't. 
I  heard  him  call  out  to  Mrs.  Bishey,  "Miss 
Em'ly,  I  Ve  got  the  boxes  all  loaded.  We  can 
start  home  in  ten  minutes."  I  heard  her  clear 
voice  reply,  "You've  done  well,  Bishey.  I'll 
be  ready  by  then."  I  was  hurriedly  dressing, 
254 


A  LITTLE  ROMANCE 

hoping  yet  to  see  her,  when  I  heard  Bishey 
call  out  to  bluff  old  Colonel  Winters,  who 
had  arrived  in  the  night  and  had  not  known 
of  the  wedding,  "Hello!  Winters,  have  you 
met  Miss  Em'ly?  Come  over  here  and  meet 
her.  I'm  a  married  man  now.  I  married  Miss 
Em'ly  last  night."  The  colonel  could  n't 
have  known  how  apt  was  his  reply  when  he 
said,  "  I  'm  glad  for  you,  Bishey.  You  've  done 
well."  I  peeked  between  the  curtains,  and 
saw  Bishey's  wagon  piled  high  with  boxes, 
with  Miss  Em'ly,  self-possessed  and  happy, 
greeting  the  colonel.  Soon  I  heard  the  rattle 
of  wheels,  and  the  dear  old  happy  pair  were 
on  their  way  to  the  cabin  home  they  had 
waited  twenty-five  years  for.  Bless  the  kind 
old  hearts  of  them!  I'm  sure  they've  both 
"done  well." 


,  XXV 

AMONG   THE  MORMONS 

November,  1913. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  - 

I  have  wanted  to  write  you  for  a  long  time, 
but  have  been  so  busy.  I  have  had  some  visit- 
ors and  have  been  on  a  visit ;  I  think  you  would 
like  to  hear  about  it  all,  so  I  will  tell  you. 

I  don't  think  you  would  have  admired  my 
appearance  the  morning  this  adventure  be- 
gan :  I  was  in  the  midst  of  fall  house-cleaning 
which  included  some  papering.  I  am  no  ex- 
pert at  the  very  best,  and  papering  a  wall  has 
difficulties  peculiar  to  itself.  I  was  up  on  a 
barrel  trying  to  get  a  long,  sloppy  strip  of 
paper  to  stick  to  the  ceiling  instead  of  to  me, 
when  in  my  visitors  trooped,  and  so  surprised 
me  that  I  stepped  off  the  barrel  and  into  a 
candy-bucket  of  paste.  At  the  same  time  the 
paper  came  off  the  ceiling  and  fell  over  mine 

256 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

and  Mrs.  Louderer's  head.  It  was  right 
aggravating,  I  can  tell  you,  but  my  visitors 
were  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  and  Mrs.  Loud- 
erer,  and  no  one  could  stay  discouraged  with 
that  pair  around. 

After  we  had  scraped  as  much  paste  as  we 
could  off  ourselves  they  explained  that  they 
had  come  to  take  me  somewhere.  That 
sounded  good  to  me,  but  I  could  not  see  how  I 
could  get  off.  However,  Mrs.  Louderer  said 
she  had  come  to  keep  house  and  to  take  care 
of  the  children  while  I  should  go  with  Mrs. 

O'Shaughnessy  to  E .  We  should  have 

two  days'  travel  by  sled  and  a  few  hours 
on  a  train,  then  another  journey  by  sled. 
I  wanted  to  go  powerfully,  but  the  paste- 
smeared  room  seemed  to  forbid. 

As  Mrs.  Louderer  would  stay  with  the 
children,  Mr.  Stewart  thought  the  trip  would 
be  good  for  me.  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  knew 

I  wanted  to  visit  Bishop  D ,  a  shining 

light  among  the  Latter-Day  Saints,  so  she 

promised  we  should  stay  overnight  at  his 

257 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

house.  That  settled  it;  so  in  the  cold,  blue 
light  of  the  early  morning,  Mr.  Beeler,  a  new 
neighbor,  had  driven  my  friends  over  in  Mrs. 
Louderer's  big  sled,  to  which  was  hitched  a 
pair  of  her  great  horses  and  his  own  team.  He 
is  a  widower  and  was  going  out  to  the  road 
for  supplies,  so  it  seemed  a  splendid  time  to 
make  my  long-planned  visit  to  the  Bishop. 
Deep  snow  came  earlier  this  year  than  usual, 
and  the  sledding  and  weather  both  promised 
to  be  good.  It  was  with  many  happy  antici- 
pations that  I  snuggled  down  among  the 
blankets  and  bearskins  that  morning. 

Mr.  Beeler  is  pleasant  company,  and  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  is  so  jolly  and  bright,  and  I 
could  leave  home  without  a  single  misgiving 
with  Mrs.  Louderer  in  charge. 

The  evening  sky  was  blazing  crimson  and 
gold,  and  the  mountains  behind  us  were 
growing  purple  when  we  entered  the  little 
settlement  where  the  Bishop  lives.  We  drove 
briskly  through  the  scattered,  straggling  little 
village,  past  the  store  and  the  meeting-house, 


MRS.    LOUDERER   AND    MRS.    O'SHAUGHNESSY 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

and  drew  up  before  the  dwelling  of  the 
Bishop.  The  houses  of  the  village  were  for 
the  most  part  small  cabins  of  two  or  three 
rooms,  but  the  Bishop's  was  more  preten- 
tious. It  was  a  frame  building  and  boasted 
paint  and  shutters.  A  tithing-office  stood 
near,  and  back  of  the  house  we  could  see  a 
large  granary  and  long  stacks  of  hay.  A  bunch 
of  cattle  was  destroying  one  stack,  and  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  remarked  that  the  tallow  from 
those  cattle  should  be  used  when  the  olive  oil 
gave  out  at  their  anointings,  because  it  was 
the  Bishop's  cattle  eating  consecrated  hay. 

We  knocked  on  the  door,  but  got  no  an- 
swer. Mr.  Beeler  went  around  to  the  back, 
but  no  one  answered,  so  we  concluded  we 
would  have  to  try  elsewhere  for  shelter.  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  comforted  me  by  remarking, 
"Well,  there  ain't  a  penny's  worth  of  differ- 
ence in  a  Mormon  bishop  and  any  other  Mor- 
mon, and  D is  not  the  only  polygamist 

by  a  long  shot." 

We  had  just  turned  out  of  the  gate  when  a 
259 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

lanky,  tow-headed  boy  about  fourteen  years 
of  age  rode  up.  We  explained  our  presence 
there,  and  the  boy  explained  to  us  that  the 
Bishop  and  Aunt  Debbie  were  away.  The 
next  best  house  up  the  road  was  his  "  Maw's, " 
he  said;  so,  as  Mr.  Beeler  expected  to  stay 
with  a  friend  of  his,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  and 
I  determined  to  see  if  "Maw"  could  accom- 
modate us  for  the  night. 

Mr.  Beeler  offered  to  help  the  boy  get  the 
cattle  out,  but  he  said,  "No,  Paw  said  it 
would  not  matter  if  they  got  into  the  hay, 
but  that  he  had  to  knock  off  some  poles  on 
another  part  of  the  stockyard  so  that  some 
horses  could  get  in  to  eat." 

"But,"  I  asked,  "isn't  that  consecrated 
hay?  —  is  n't  it  tithing?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "but  that  won't  hurt  a 
bit,  only  that  old  John  Ladd  always  pays  his 
tithe  with  foxtail  hay  and  it  almost  ruins 
Paw's  horses'  mouths." 

I  asked  him  if  his  father's  stock  was  sup- 
posed to  get  the  hay. 

260 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

"No,  I  guess  not,"  he  said,  "but  they  are 
always  getting  in  accidental  like." 

We  left  him  to  fix  the  fence  so  the  horses 
could  get  in  " accidental  like,"  and  drove  the 
short  distance  to  "the  next  best  house." 

We  were  met  at  the  door  by  a  pleasant- 
faced  little  woman  who  hurried  us  to  the  fire. 
We  told  her  our  plight.  "Why,  certainly  you 
must  stay  with  me,"  she  said.  "I  am  glad 
the  Bishop  and  Deb  are  away.  They  keep  all 
the  company,  and  I  so  seldom  have  any  one 
come;  you  see  Debbie  has  no  children  and 
can  do  so  much  better  for  any  one  stopping 
there  than  I  can,  but  I  like  company,  too, 
and  I  am  glad  of  a  chance  to  keep  you.  You 
two  can  have  Maudie's  bed.  Maud  is  my 
oldest  girl  and  she  has  gone  to  Ogden  to  visit, 
so  we  have  plenty  of  room." 

By  now  it  was  quite  dark.  She  lighted  a 
lamp  and  bustled  about,  preparing  supper. 
We  sat  by  the  stove  and,  as  Mrs.  O'Shaugh- 
nessy  said,  "noticed." 

Two  little  boys  were  getting  in  wood  for 
261 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

the  night.  They  appeared  to  be  about  eight 
years  old;  they  were  twins  and  were  the 
youngest  of  the  family.  Two  girls,  about  ten 
and  twelve  years  old,  were  assisting  our  host- 
ess; then  the  boy  Orson,  whom  we  met  at 
the  gate,  and  Maud,  the  daughter  who  was 
away,  made  up  the  family.  They  seemed  a 
happy,  contented  family,  if  one  judged  by 
appearance  alone.  After  supper  the  children 
gathered  around  the  table  to  prepare  next 
day's  lessons.  They  were  bright  little  folks, 
but  they  mingled  a  great  deal  of  talk  with 
their  studies  and  some  of  what  they  talked 
was  family  history. 

"Mamma,"  said  Kittie,  the  largest  of  the 
little  girls,  "if  Aunt  Deb  does  buy  a  new  coat 
and  you  get  her  old  one,  then  can  I  have 
yours?" 

"I  don't  know,"  her  mother  replied;  "I 
should  have  to  make  it  over  if  you  did  take 
it.  Maybe  we  can  have  a  new  one." 

"  No,  we  can't  have  a  new  one,  I  know,  for 
Aunt  Deb  said  so,  but  she  is  going  to  give  me 
262 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

her  brown  dress  and  you  her  gray  one;  she 
said  so  the  day  I  helped  her  iron.  We  '11  have 
those  to  make  over." 

For  the  first  time  I  noticed  the  discon- 
tented lines  on  our  hostess's  face,  and  it  sud- 
denly occurred  to  me  that  we  were  in  the 
house  of  the  Bishop's  second  wife.  Before  I 
knew  I  was  coming  on  this  journey  I  thought 
of  a  dozen  questions  I  wanted  to  ask  the 
Bishop,  but  I  could  never  ask  that  care- 
worn little  woman  anything  concerning  their 
peculiar  belief.  However,  I  was  spared  the 
trouble,  for  soon  the  children  retired  and  the 
conversation  drifted  around  to  Mormonism 
and  polygamy;  and  our  hostess  seemed  to 
want  to  talk,  so  I  just  listened,  for  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  rather  likes  to  "  argufy  " ;  but 
she  had  no  argument  that  night,  only  her 
questions  started  our  hostess's  story. 

She  had  been  married  to  the  Bishop  not 

long  before  the  manifesto,  and  he  had  been 

married  several  years  then  to  Debbie.    But 

Debbie  had  no  children,  and  all  the  money 

263 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

the  Bishop  had  to  start  with  had  been  his  first 
wife's;  so  when  it  became  necessary  for  him 
to  discard  a  wife  it  was  a  pretty  hard  ques- 
tion for  him  because  a  little  child  was  coming 
to  the  second  wife  and  he  had  nothing  to  pro- 
vide for  her  with  except  what  his  first  wife's 
money  paid  for.  The  first  wife  said  she  would 
consent  to  him  starting  the  second,  if  she 
filed  on  land  and  paid  her  back  a  small  sum 
every  year  until  it  was  all  paid  back.  So  he 
took  the  poor  "second,"  after  formally  re- 
nouncing her,  and  helped  her  to  file  on  the 
land  she  now  lives  on.  He  built  her  a  small 
cabin,  and  so  she  started  her  career  as  a 
' '  second . "  I  suppose  the  ' '  first ' '  thought  she 
would  be  rid  of  the  second,  who  had  never 
really  been  welcome,  although  the  Bishop 
could  never  have  married  a  "second"  with- 
out her  consent. 

"I  would  never  consent,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  would  if  you  had  been  raised 
a  Mormon,"  said  our  hostess.  "You  see,  we 
264 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

were  all  of  us  children  of  polygamous  parents. 
We  have  been  used  to  plural  marriages  all 
our  lives.  We  believe  that  such  experience 
fits  us  for  our  after-life,  as  we  are  only  prepar- 
ing for  life  beyond  while  here." 

"Do  you  expect  to  go  to  heaven,  and  do 
you  think  the  man  who  married  you  and  then 
discarded  you  will  go  to  heaven  too?"  asked 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  replied. 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  "I  am 
afraid  if  it  had  been  mysilf  I'd  have  been 
after  raising  a  little  hell  here  intirely." 

Our  hostess  was  not  offended,  and  there 
followed  a  long  recital  of  earlier-day  hard 
times  that  you  would  scarcely  believe  any 
one  could  live  through.  It  seems  the  first 
wife  in  such  families  is  boss,  and  while  they 
do  not  live  in  the  same  homes,  still  she  can 
very  materially  affect  the  other's  comfort. 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  asked  her  if  she  had 
married  again. 

She  said,  "No." 

265 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  "  whose 
children  are  these?" 

"My  own,"  she  replied. 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  was  relentless.  "Who 
is  their  father?"  she  asked. 

I  was  right  sorry  for  the  poor  little  woman 
as  she  stammered,  "I  —  I  don't  know." 

Then  she  went  on,  "Of  course  I  do  know, 
and  I  don't  believe  you  are  spying  to  try 
to  stir  up  trouble  for  my  husband.  Bishop 
D is  their  father,  as  he  is  still  my  hus- 
band, although  he  had  to  cast  me  off  to  save 
himself  and  me.  I  love  him  and  I  see  no 
wrong  in  him.  All  the  Gentiles  have  against 
him  is  he  is  a  little  too  smart  for  them.  'T  was 
their  foolish  law  that  made  him  wrong  the 
children  and  me,  and  not  his  wishes." 

"But,"  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  said,  "it 
places  your  children  in  such  a  plight;  they 
can't  inherit,  they  can't  even  claim  his  name, 
they  have  no  status  legally." 

"Oh,  but  the  Bishop  will  see  to  that,"  the 
little  woman  answered. 
266 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  asked  her  if  she  had 
still  to  work  as  hard  as  she  used  to. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I  do,"  she  said,  "for 

since  Mr.  D has  been  Bishop,  things 

come  easier.  He  built  this  house  with  his 
own  money,  so  Deb  has  nothing  to  do  with 
it." 

I  asked  her  if  she  thought  she  was  as  happy 
as  "second"  as  she  would  be  if  she  was  the 
only  wife. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "perhaps 
not.  Deb  and  me  don't  always  agree.  She 
is  jealous  of  the  children  and  because  I  am 
younger,  and  I  get  to  feeling  bad  when  I 
think  she  is  perfectly  safe  as  a  wife  and  has 
no  cares.  She  has  everything  she  wants,  and 
I  have  to  take  what  I  can  get,  and  my  chil- 
dren have  to  wait  upon  her.  But  it  will  all 
come  right  somewhere,  sometime,"  she  ended 
cheerfully,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  her 
apron. 

I  felt  so  sorry  for  her  and  so  ashamed  to 
have  seen  into  her  sorrow  that  I  was  really 
267 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

glad  next  morning  when  I  heard  Mr.  Heeler's 
cheerful  voice  calling,  "All  aboard!" 

We  had  just  finished  breakfast,  and  few 

would  ever  guess  that  Mrs.  D knew  a 

trial ;  she  was  so  cheerful  and  so  cordial  as  she 
bade  us  good-bye  and  urged  us  to  stop  with 
her  every  time  we  passed  through. 

About  noon  that  day  we  reached  the  rail- 
road. The  snow  had  delayed  the  train  farther 
north,  so  for  once  we  were  glad  to  have  to 
wait  for  a  train,  as  it  gave  us  time  to  get 
a  bite  to  eat  and  to  wash  up  a  bit.  It  was 
not  long,  however,  till  we  were  comfortably 
seated  in  the  train.  I  think  a  train  ride  might 
not  be  so  enjoyable  to  most,  but  to  us  it 
was  a  delight;  I  even  enjoyed  looking  at  the 
Negro  porter,  although  I  suspect  he  expected 
to  be  called  Mister.  I  found  very  soon  after 
coming  West  that  I  must  not  say  " Uncle"  or 
" Aunty"  as  I  used  to  at  home. 

It  was  not  long  until  they  called  the  name 
of  the  town  at  which  we  wanted  to  stop. 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  had  a  few  acquaintances 
268 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

there,  but  we  went  to  a  hotel.  We  were  both 
tired,  so  as  soon  as  we  had  supper  we  went  to 
bed.  The  house  we  stopped  at  was  warmer 
and  more  comfortable  than  the  average  hotel 
in  the  West,  but  the  partitions  were  very 
thin,  so  when  a  couple  of  "punchers,"  other- 
wise cowboys,  took  the  room  next  to  ours,  we 
could  hear  every  word  they  said. 

It  appears  that  one  was  English  and  the 
other  a  tenderfoot.  The  tenderfoot  was  in 
love  with  a  girl  who  had  filed  on  a  homestead 
near  the  ranch  on  which  he  was  employed, 
but  who  was  then  a  waitress  in  the  hotel  we 
were  at.  She  had  not  seemed  kind  to  the 
tenderfoot  and  he  was  telling  his  friend  about 
it.  The  Englishman  was  trying  to  instruct 
him  as  to  how  to  proceed. 

"  You  need  to  be  very  circumspect,  Johnny, 
where  females  are  concerned,  but  you  must 
n't  be  too  danged  timid  either." 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  devil  to  say  to  her; 
I  can  barely  nod  my  head  when  she  asks  me 
will  I  take  tea  or  coffee;  and  to-night  she 
269 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

mixed  it  because  I  nodded  yes  when  she  said, 
1  tea  or  coffee,1  and  it  was  the  dangdest  mess  I 
ever  tried  to  get  outside  of." 

"Well,"  the  friend  counseled,  "you  just 
get  her  into  a  corner  some'eres  and  say  to  'er, 
'Dearest  'Attie,  I  hoffer  you  my  'and  hand 
my  'eart.'" 

"But  I  can't"  wailed  Johnny.  "I  could 
never  get  her  into  a  corner  anyway." 

"If  you  can't,  you're  not  hold  enough  to 
marry  then.  What  the  'ell  would  you  do  with 
a  woman  in  the  'ouse  if  you  could  n't  corner 
'er?  I  tell  'e,  women  'ave  to  'ave  a  master, 
and  no  man  better  tackle  that  job  until  'e 
can  be  sure  'e  can  make  'er  walk  the  chalk- 
line." 

"But  I  don't  want  her  to  walk  any  line;  I 
just  want  her  to  speak  to  me." 

"Dang  me  if  I  don't  believe  you  are  locoed. 
Why,  she 's  got  'e  throwed  hand  'og-tied  now. 
What  d'e  want  to  make  it  any  worse  for?" 

They  talked  for  a  long  time  and  the  Eng- 
lishman continued  to  have  trouble  with  his 
270 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

h's;  but  at  last  Johnny  was  encouraged  to 
"corner  'er"  next  morning  before  they  left 
for  their  ranch. 

We  expected  to  be  astir  early  anyway,  and 
our  curiosity  impelled  us  to  see  the  outcome 
of  the  friend's  counsel,  so  we  were  almost  the 
first  in  the  dining-room  next  morning.  A 
rather  pretty  girl  was  busy  arranging  the 
tables,  and  soon  a  boyish-looking  fellow, 
wearing  great  bat-wing  chaps,  came  in  and 
stood  warming  himself  at  the  stove. 

I  knew  at  once  it  was  Johnny,  and  I  saw 
"'Attie"  blush.  The  very  indifference  with 
which  she  treated  him  argued  well  for  his 
cause,  but  of  course  he  did  n't  know  that.  So 
when  she  passed  by  him  and  her  skirt  caught 
on  his  big  spurs  they  both  stooped  at  once  to 
unfasten  it ;  their  heads  hit  together  with  such 
a  bump  that  the  ice  was  broken,  although 
he  seemed  to  think  it  was  her  skull.  I  am 
sure  there  ought  to  be  a  thaw  after  all  his 
apologies.  After  breakfast  Mrs.  O'Shaugh- 
nessy  went  out  to  see  her  friend  Cormac 
271 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

OToole.  He  was  the  only  person  in  town 
we  could  hope  to  get  a  team  from  with  which 
to  continue  our  journey.  This  is  a  hard  coun- 
try on  horses  at  best,  and  at  this  time  of  the 
year  particularly  so ;  few  will  let  their  teams 
go  out  at  any  price,  but  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
had  hopes,  and  she  is  so  persuasive  that  I  felt 
no  one  could  resist  her.  There  was  a  drum- 
mer at  breakfast  who  kept  "cussing"  the 
country.  He  had  tried  to  get  a  conveyance 
and  had  failed;  so  the  cold,  the  snow,  the 
people,  and  everything  else  disgusted  him. 

Soon  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  returned,  and 
as  the  drummer  was  trying  to  get  out  to 

E ,  and  that  was  our  destination  also, 

she  made  her  way  toward  him,  intending  to 
invite  him  to  ride  with  us.  She  wore  over  her 
best  clothes  an  old  coat  that  had  once  be- 
longed to  some  one  of  her  men  friends.  It  had 
once  been  bearskin,  but  was  now  more  bare 
skin,  so  her  appearance  was  against  her;  she 
looked  like  something  with  the  mange.  So 
Mr.  Drummer  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  she 
272 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

was  going  to  say  but  at  once  exclaimed,  "  No, 
madam,  I  cannot  let  you  ride  out  with  me.  I 
can't  get  a  rig  myself  in  this  beastly  place." 
Then  he  turned  to  a  man  standing  near  and 
remarked,  "These  Western  women  are  so 
bold  they  don't  hesitate  to  demand  favors." 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy's  eyes  fairly  snapped, 
but  she  said  nothing.  I  think  she  took  a  ma- 
licious delight  in  witnessing  the  drummer's 
chagrin  when  a  few  moments  later  our  com- 
fortable sleigh  and  good  strong  team  appeared. 

We  were  going  to  drive  ourselves,  but  we 
had  to  drive  to  the  depot  for  our  suit-cases ; 
but  when  we  got  there  the  ticket-office  was 
not  open,  so  the  agent  was  probably  having 
his  beauty  sleep.  There  was  a  fire  in  the  big 
stove,  and  we  joined  the  bunch  of  men  in  the 
depot.  Among  them  we  noticed  a  thin,  con- 
sumptive-looking fellow,  evidently  a  stranger. 

Very  soon  some  men  began  talking  of  some 

transaction  in  which  a  Bishop  B was 

concerned.    It  seemed  they  did  n't  admire 

the  Bishop  very  much ;  they  kept  talking  of 

273 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

his  peculiarities  and  transgressions,  and  men- 
tioned his  treatment  of  his  wives.  His  "sec- 
ond," they  said,  was  blind  because  of  cata- 
racts, and,  although  abundantly  able,  he  left 
her  in  darkness.  She  had  never  seen  her  two 
last  children.  Some  one  spoke  up  and  said, 
"I  thought  polygamy  was  no  longer  prac- 
ticed." Then  the  man  explained  that  they  no 
longer  contracted  plural  marriages,  but  that 
many  kept  all  their  wives  and  B—  -  still  had 
both  of  his.  He  went  on  to  say  that  although 
such  practice  is  contrary  to  law,  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  make  a  case  against  them,  for 
the  women  would  not  swear  against  their 
husbands.  B —  -  had  been  arrested  once, 
but  his  second  swore  that  she  did  n't  know 
who  her  children's  father  was,  and  it  cost  the 
sheriff  his  office  the  next  election. 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  spoke  to  an  acquaint- 
ance of  hers  and  mentioned  where  we  were 
going.  In  a  short  while  we  got  our  suit-cases 
and  we  were  off,  but  as  we  drove  past  the 
freight  depot,  the  stranger  we  had  noticed 
274 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

came  down  the  steps  and  asked  us  to  let  him 
ride  out  with  us.  I  really  felt  afraid  of  him, 
but  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  thinks  herself  a 
match  for  any  mere  man,  so  she  drew  up  and 
the  man  climbed  in.  He  took  the  lines  and 
we  snuggled  down  under  the  robes  and  lis- 
tened to  the  runners,  shrill  screeching  over 
the  frozen  surface. 

We  had  dinner  with  a  new  settler,  and 
about  two  o'clock  that  afternoon  we  over- 
took a  fellow  who  was  plodding  along  the 

road.  His  name  was  B ,  he  said,  and  he 

pointed  out  to  us  his  broad  fields  and  herds. 
He  had  been  overseeing  some  feeders  he  had, 
and  his  horse  had  escaped,  so  he  was  walking 
home,  as  it  was  only  a  couple  of  miles.  He 
talked  a  great  deal  in  that  two-mile  trip ;  too 
much  for  his  own  good,  it  developed. 

For  the  first  time  since  B climbed  into 

our  sleigh,  the  stranger  spoke.  "  Can  you  tell 
me  where  Mrs.  Belle  B lives?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  yes,"  our  passenger  replied.  "She 
is  a  member  of  our  little  flock.  She  is  slightly 
275 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

related  to  me,  as  you  perhaps  noticed  the 
name,  and  I  will  show  you  to  her  house." 

"Just  how  is  she  related  to  you?"  the 
stranger  asked. 

"That,"  the  man  replied,  "is  a  matter  of 
protection.  I  have  given  her  the  protection 
of  my  name." 

"Then  she  is  your  wife,  is  she  not? "the 
stranger  asked. 

"You  must  be  a  stranger  in  this  country," 
the  man  evaded .  ' '  What  is  your  name  ? ' ' 

But  the  stranger  did  n't  seem  to  hear,  and 
just  then  we  came  opposite  the  residence  of 
the  Bishop,  and  the  man  we  had  picked  up  in 
the  road  said,  "That  is  my  home,  won't  you 
get  out  and  warm?  My  wife  will  be  glad  to 
get  acquainted  with  you  ladies." 

We  declined,  as  it  was  only  a  short  distance 
to  the  house  of  the  man  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy 
had  come  to  see,  so  he  stayed  in  the  sleigh  to 
show  the  stranger  to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Belle 

B .  I  can't  say  much  for  it  as  a  house, 

and  I  was  glad  I  did  n't  have  to  go  in.  The 

275 


AMONG  THE  MORMONS 

stranger  and  B got  out  and  entered  the 

house,  and  we  drove  away. 

Next  morning,  as  we  returned  through  the 
little  village,  it  was  all  excitement.  Bishop 

B had  been  shot  the  night  before,  just 

as  he  had  left  the  house  of  Mrs.  Belle  B , 

for  what  reason  or  by  whom  no  one  knew; 
and  if  the  Bishop  knew  he  had  not  told,  for 
he  either  would  not  or  could  not  talk. 

They  were  going  to  start  with  him  that  day 
to  the  hospital,  but  they  had  no  hopes  of  his 
living. 

When  we  came  to  Mrs.  Belle's  house,  Mrs. 
O'Shaughnessy  got  out  of  the  sleigh  and 
went  into  the  house.  I  could  hear  her  sooth- 
ing voice,  and  I  was  mighty  glad  the  poor, 
forlorn  woman  had  such  a  comforter. 

I  was  so  very  glad  to  get  home.  How  good 
it  all  looked  to  me!  "  Poop  o'  Roome"  has  a 
calf,  and  as  we  drove  up  to  the  corral  Clyde 
was  trying  to  get  it  into  the  stall  with  the 
rest.  It  is  "  Poop's  "  first  calf,  and  she  is  very 
277 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

proud  of  it,  and  objected  to  its  being  put 
away  from  her,  so  she  bunted  at  Clyde,  and 
as  he  dodged  her,  the  calf  ran  between  his  feet 
and  he  sat  down  suddenly  in  the  snow.  I 
laughed  at  him,  but  I  am  powerfully  glad  he 
is  no  follower  of  old  Joseph  Smith. 

Mrs.  Louderer  was  enjoying  herself  im- 
mensely, she  loves  children  so  much.  She 
and  Clyde  hired  the  "Tackier"  — so  called 
because  he  will  tackle  any  kind  of  a  job, 
whether  he  knows  anything  about  it  or  not  — 
to  paper  the  room.  He  thinks  he  is  a  great 
judge  of  the  fitness  of  things  and  of  beauty. 
The  paper  has  a  stripe  of  roses,  so  Tackier 
reversed  every  other  strip  so  that  some  of 
my  roses  are  standing  on  their  heads.  Roses 
don't  all  grow  one  way,  he  claims,  and  so  his 
method  "makes  'em  look  more  nachul  like." 

A  little  thing  like  wall-paper  put  on  upside 
down  don't  bother  me;  but  what  would  I  do 
if  I  were  a  "second"? 

Your  loving  friend, 

ELINORE  RUPERT  STEWART. 


XXVI 

SUCCESS 

November,  1913. 

DEAR  MRS.  CONEY,  - 

This  is  Sunday  and  I  suppose  I  ought  not 
to  be  writing,  but  I  must  write  to  you  and 
I  may  not  have  another  chance  soon.  Both 
your  letters  have  reached  me,  and  now  that 
our  questions  are  settled  we  can  proceed  to 
proceed. 

Now,  this  is  the  letter  I  have  been  wanting 
to  write  you  for  a  long  time,  but  could  not 
because  until  now  I  had  not  actually  proven 
all  I  wanted  to  prove.  Perhaps  it  will  not  inter- 
est you,  but  if  you  see  a  woman  who  wants  to 
homestead  and  is  a  little  afraid  she  will  starve, 
you  can  tell  her  what  I  am  telling  you. 

I  never  did  like  to  theorize,  and  so  this 
year  I  set  out  to  prove  that  a  woman  could 
ranch  if  she  wanted  to.  We  like  to  grow  pota- 
279 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

toes  on  new  ground,  that  is,  newly  cleared 
land  on  which  no  crop  has  been  grown.  Few 
weeds  grow  on  new  land,  so  it  makes  less  work. 
So  I  selected  my  potato-patch,  and  the  man 
ploughed  it,  although  I  could  have  done  that 
if  Clyde  would  have  let  me.  I  cut  the  pota- 
toes, Jerrine  helped,  and  we  dropped  them 
in  the  rows.  The  man  covered  them,  and 
that  ends  the  man's  part.  By  that  time  the 
garden  ground  was  ready,  so  I  planted  the 
garden.  I  had  almost  an  acre  in  vegetables. 
I  irrigated  and  I  cultivated  it  myself. 

We  had  all  the  vegetables  we  could  pos- 
sibly use,  and  now  Jerrine  and  I  have  put  in 
our  cellar  full,  and  this  is  what  we  have:  one 
large  bin  of  potatoes  (more  than  two  tons), 
half  a  ton  of  carrots,  a  large  bin  of  beets,  one 
of  turnips,  one  of  onions,  one  of  parsnips,  and 
on  the  other  side  of  the  cellar  we  have  more 
than  one  hundred  heads  of  cabbage.  I  have 
experimented  and  found  a  kind  of  squash 
that  can  be  raised  here,  and  that  the  ripe 
ones  keep  well  and  make  good  pies ;  also  that 
280 


SUCCESS 

the  young  tender  ones  make  splendid  pickles, 
quite  equal  to  cucumbers.  I  was  glad  to 
stumble  on  to  that,  because  pickles  are  hard 
to  manufacture  when  you  have  nothing  to 
work  with.  Now  I  have  plenty.  They  told 
me  when  I  came  that  I  could  not  even  raise 
common  beans,  but  I  tried  and  succeeded. 
And  also  I  raised  lots  of  green  tomatoes,  and, 
as  we  like  them  preserved,  I  made  them  all  up 
that  way.  Experimenting  along  another  line, 
I  found  that  I  could  make  catchup,  as  deli- 
cious as  that  of  tomatoes,  of  gooseberries.  I 
made  it  exactly  the  same  as  I  do  the  tomatoes 
and  I  am  delighted.  Gooseberries  were  very 
fine  and  very  plentiful  this  year,  so  I  put  up 
a  great  many.  I  milked  ten  cows  twice  a  day 
all  summer;  have  sold  enough  butter  to  pay 
for  a  year's  supply  of  flour  and  gasoline.  We 
use  a  gasoline  lamp.  I  have  raised  enough 
chickens  to  completely  renew  my  flock,  and 
all  we  wanted  to  eat,  and  have  some  fryers 
to  go  into  the  winter  with.  I  have  enough 
turkeys  for  all  of  our  birthdays  and  holidays. 
281 


A  WOMAN  HOMESTEADER 

I  raised  a  great  many  flowers  and  I  worked 
several  days  in  the  field.  In  all  I  have  told 
about  I  have  had  no  help  but  Jerrine.  Clyde's 
mother  spends  each  summer  with  us,  and  she 
helped  me  with  the  cooking  and  the  babies. 
Many  of  my  neighbors  did  better  than  I  did, 
although  I  know  many  town  people  would 
doubt  my  doing  so  much,  but  I  did  it.  I  have 
tried  every  kind  of  work  this  ranch  affords, 
and  I  can  do  any  of  it.  Of  course  I  am  extra 
strong,  but  those  who  try  know  that  strength 
and  knowledge  come  with  doing.  I  just  love 
to  experiment,  to  work,  and  to  prove  out 
things,  so  that  ranch  life  and  "roughing  it" 
just  suit  me. 


THE   END 


(«CI)i* 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


